


MCYT WritingTober

by TibiDecet



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, D&D AU, Found Family, Gen, Lots of angst in chapter 9 too, Mentions of Injuries, Minecraft Game dynamics treated as "realistic", SMP Earth - Freeform, Sparring, both in chapter 9, in chapter 8, minecraft level of violence, some more angst in 27 but it gets sweet by the end, tags will be updated if need be, we're going to angst town again in chapter 24 sorry friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 30,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TibiDecet/pseuds/TibiDecet
Summary: This is my prompt fill for Tumblr user the-only-gamer-gost 's list!Hopefully I'll be able to keep posting them, I'll do my best! It's a really cool list, if any of you is interested you should definitely check it out!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Skeppy & BadBoyHalo, Skeppy & Technoblade, Technoblade & Cxlvxn, Technoblade & Cxlvxn & xNestorio, Technoblade & Jschlatt, Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Tommyinnit & Tubbo
Comments: 55
Kudos: 413





	1. MCC Minigame

While spawning isn't always a fun experience, Techno does appreciate the sudden silence he's trust in. 

One moment him and his team are standing around in their small suspended box inside the decision dome, surrounded by the cheers, yells and excited chatter of everyone else in the tournament - voices echoing the next they're inside their private room inside the Battle Box arena. 

There’s the usual brief moment of disorientation where nothing quite makes sense, his stomach doing flips inside his body and his head pounds, then his eyes focus back on his surroundings. There’s purple tinted glass in front of him, and hardwood floor beneath his feet. He doesn’t know which looks more out of place: the potted plant next to the glass or the dirt and fire filled trenches that open up beneath. 

A moment later, the familiar weight of a crossbow strapped to his back registers - there’s an axe affixed to his side, which Techno considers an unusual weapon but a weapon nonetheless. He takes the axe in his hand and swings it once, then twirls it over his hand: it’s hefty, and it will surely slow him down, but it will definitely pack a punch. 

“So, what’s the strat?” Wilbur asks, appearing from behind him with his crossbow already in hand. His older friend shoots a nervous look towards the purple glass - and probably further, towards the other side of the map, where a man in a green hoodie seems to be stretching. 

_ What a showoff. _ Techno thinks, deciding to ignore how he’d been testing his axe swings just a moment before, and he lightly elbows Wil’s side. 

“Well you see, you pull back the string part of the bow-” He starts and immediately Wil’s expression sours, his face losing all traces of anxiety as he focuses on a much worse problem: Techno’s teasing and Tommy’s laughter. 

The youngest member of their team is still laughing when he pockets the splash potion of healing, holding himself up with one hand on the wall. 

“Alright, alright, you know what I meant.” He protests, waving his hand towards the coloured glass. 

Phil, also chuckling -  _ the absolute traitor _ -, approaches the wall where all the items are displayed with a pondering expression. 

“I’m thinking, me and Tommy can hold the flank, I’ll take the TNT. Wilbur you take the shield and wool. If they rush, you and Techno can hold on for the time it takes us to reach you.” He states, grabbing the shield and turning towards Wilbur to pass it to him. As he helps him pull on the straps, Techno starts to gather arrows and readies his crossbow - one in his hand, the other on his back. Phil thinks for a moment about possibly telling him to take care not to shoot himself accidentally, then shrugs. He’s going to be fine. 

“Otherwise, I’ll take care of the covering fire. Try to stick close to the ground, alright?” Techno says with a grin; before Wilbur has the time to protest the world shifts around them once again and they find themselves standing one level lower, right in front of the arena’s trench. 

“Good luck, guys.” Phil calls out as the countdown starts. As the virtual number reaches three, Techno starts pointing his crossbow towards the glass. 

“Remember, we win these!” He calls out, then the glass disappears.


	2. MCC Teams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Scott Smajor, what can I say. The man's funny, sweet and considerate.   
> He deserves more love! And maybe a super high tech computer that allows him to create the MCC teams the same way Tony Stark designs his suits.   
> Just saying.

Once the pounding in his head becomes too much, Scott figures that it’s probably better to just take a break for the night. 

The cup by his side has since long gone cold, the once steaming tea now room-temperature. He gives the mug, light blue with “Best Organizer Ever” written onto it in bright bold rainbow letters, a fond look - it had been Liam’s attempt at bribery to get his place on the tournament back - and decides that yes, he’s earned himself some rest for the day. 

The next championship is still a couple of weeks away, but his job as team creator is only one of the many roles he covers. 

Still, it always manages to become the most complex, time consuming and migraine inducing one. Also the funniest and most exciting, and that’s why he always makes sure to work on it. 

Before he shuts everything, he decides that he can give himself time for a quick overview. The holographic screen is still standing in front of him, displaying the graphs of analytics he’d recovered from the past couple of tournaments. As he brings a hand through the projection, the images follow his movement, data flowing upward and forming thin lines to represent each player’s overall points. Less than half of them appear currently having no points, as he hasn’t tackled their personal scores yet. He closes the graph section with a chuckle - Brandon’s bar being that tall after his stellar parkour performance will never not be funny. 

By sliding his hand from left to right, he brings up what he likes to call the "love tree": a series of baubles representing each contestant, and lines interconnecting each of them depending on the preferences they stated in their application forms. That is usually the first thing he takes care of, setting it as a filter for his later calculations. That and he enjoys tracing links from one to the other, adding his own lines according to personal knowledge and private requests. 

Scott's index finger lightly pokes one of the baubles, making the image glow slightly and bob in place - that is definitely one of the main reasons why he loves working on the "love tree". 

There's a sudden meow coming from his right ankle: when Scott turns his eyes downward Elle is staring up at him, yellow eyes shining due to the bright light of the hologram. 

"Hello, darling. It's late, isn't it?" He asks with a small smile, bending down so that Elle can easily and gracefully jump into his arms and snuggle into his chest.

"Alright, alright "- he chuckles, saving one last time just to be sure and shutting off the projector - "We're off to bed, come on." 

Holding Elle with one arm, he grabs his cup, feeling too tired to wash it but not too tired to avoid leaving his working station messy. 

The next day, a lot more of research awaits him, and he can't say he's not looking forward to it. 

But for now, he's definitely looking forward to his bed and some well deserved rest.


	3. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still cannot believe that Calvin's video of the Techno training ark came out just after I finished writing this ... Incredible.   
> If you like this, consider checking out the video!! It's pretty cool, and Calvin is a super funny dude!   
> (he's Cxlvxn on youtube, he also did a video on the Dream training ark where he goes a bit more in depth on the subject of pvp)

"Aim higher!" Calvin's voice calls, easily moving his head to the side in order to avoid the incoming fishhook. 

The sun is shining on the training ground, so much so that if he were to look towards the edge of it, Calvin would be able to see it slightly blur, as if steam was coming out of the ground. 

Calvin isn't going to look away from his main target though. The currently scowling man in front of him has long since donned his usual pig mask and royal cape, opting for a set of clothing that Calvin can only assume is some kind of farming setup - he's only missing a straw hat. 

They're both sweating buckets under the sun, but Techno seems to be starting to grow tired: they have after all been training non-stop for about a couple of hours. 

The progress is there, clear as day. Not only in the way Techno is aiming, ready to strike once more with his fishing rod, but also in the quick steps he's taking towards him. Despite his heaving breath, he seems to be flying on the ground, propelled forward by an invisible force. 

The fishing hook flies towards him, but it's once again non properly directioned: it's going to land about an inch to his right. There's a split second during which Calvin is about to call him out on his mistake, maybe suggest taking a break because he's getting tired himself, then he realises: it's too off-course for it to be intentional.

A split second later, Techno is right up against him, and he has to bring up his sword to parry a blow to the chest that would have surely winded him. 

A loud cheer almost distracts him from the task at hand, but a moment later Calvin pushes against Techno's sword and moves forward for another attack - immediately ready to turn the situation against Techno. 

"Shut up, Noah!" He yells out, trying to get his friend to quiet down - Techno had agreed to having a spectator just for the sake of their long lasting friendships, but still they need to focus. 

Techno looks to be slightly annoyed that his trick didn't work, so Calvin makes a mental note to compliment him on it later - it's not good to consider him as a good comparison, after all his years of constant battles, and he's gotta be anxious enough about the duel by itself. 

It's all about the balance between positive reinforcement and the kicking his ass, he figures as he swipes his leg behind Techno and sends him tumbling to the ground. 

For a moment, all is quiet as Techno simply stares at the sky with pursed lips, then he groans:

"Fuck." Making Calvin burst out laughing, sheathing his sword and offering his hand to help him out.

"Come on, potato man, you're doing great but I need a break."


	4. MCU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been in this fandom long, so I haven't seen many live tournaments BUT this really holds a special place in my heart.   
> It was extremely funny, and it was so good to see Techno going hard on the competition live - I'd only been able to catch his vods of the Minecraft Monday streams, so.

The sky above them was dark, the stars barely visible due to the fires burning on the ground around them. 

Three men lay on the ground, surrounded by animals of all varieties and a ridiculous amount of weapons, taking a moment to rest after what feels like an eternity of fighting. 

Scattered in the area around them, objects, weapons and materials of all sorts lay on the ground, ready to either be picked up or disappear forever. 

Techno sighs, unwilling to stand up, and covers his eyes with an arm - still clad in enchanted diamond armour, it feels cold and refreshing on his sweaty face, despite the fact that the metal armour doesn't exactly feel good against his skin. 

It feels especially bad because of a couple of chipped parts that are currently digging into his cheek, and which will probably end up giving him small nicks if he's not careful about it. 

"Can we take a nap here? I feel like we've earned it." He groans, his sentence halting halfway due to a yawn he's unable to stifle. 

Calvin bursts out laughing next to him, sitting up slightly on his side: there's still a faint mark on the side of his neck where he was hit previously, and his armour looks chipped and charred from his earlier rush into the fray to lay down tnt - Techno  _ is _ impressed, for both his strength, his lack of fear and his endurance. 

"I guess we can, but don't you want to go take a shower at least?" 

While Techno takes some time to ponder the pros and cons of standing up - one one side, a shower sounds good, but on the other,  _ standing up  _ \- Nestorio doesn't seem to have many doubts as he rolls on his stomach and kneels upright. Because apparently that is the downside of using your bow constantly for three days straight, your arms will just stop cooperating and go on a strike. 

A dog trots his way towards him and start nudging him, whining gently, until the man concedes and starts to slowly pat the animal's head. 

"Oh I am so down for a shower. I just hope we won't have to go through everyone else to get outside." Nestorio comments, prompting Techno, who had been in the middle of trying to sit up, to freeze and flop back down on the ground. The dog Nestorio had been petting whips his head towards him in alarm, sniffing the air in his direction as Techno gives him a pleading look.

"On second thought, what if we just stayed here forever?" 


	5. Arrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a "free day" regarding prompts, so I decided to give some love to the amazing Hbomb!   
> He's a really cool and sweet dude, so I couldn't not write about him!

He's been here before.

Not exactly like this, of course - the faces staring back at him aren't the same, and the colour of the floor under his feet is slightly different -, but it’s similar enough to make him pause for a moment. 

The yells of the crowd around him are like a distant ringing in his ears, colorful masses of clothes, faces and banners just a blur in his peripheral vision before he forcefully grabs the rains of his own mind and focuses right back in. 

There are still traces of the green specks of glitter that Eret exploded in on his arm when he reaches out to grab the viridescent arrow gently bobbing on the ground. 

His whole body thrums with energy, but his hands don’t shake when he brings the arrow up to his bow. 

He pulls it back, muscles flexing and fingers straining in what is now an extremely familiar action; he’s been here so many times, and it should bring him pride but at the same time he wants this to be good, wants it to be memorable, wants to put on a show - because it would be one hell of a story, such an exceptional comeback when the odds are stacked against him.

Hbomb’s eyes drift towards the blonde man on his left, arrow following suit. Philza looks concentrated, but there’s sweat dripping down his forehead: they’ve been at it for a long time, it’s been four rounds now, and this is the fifth - if he would allow himself to feel it, he’d notice that he is also soaked, and his side still hurts a little from the last arrow that hit him, but he’s not taking any possible distractions into account. 

Phil’s hair swishes to the side as he skids towards the edge of the platform, eyes moving from Hbomb’s frame for a split second to make sure he doesn’t accidentally fall into lava, but it’s enough. The older man is his main source of anxiety at the moment.

Lungs almost threatening to burn, he releases the breath he’d been holding and in the same action he lets go of the arrow, hand moving to his side to grab the other one. 

Release, grab, pull.

The instant he hears the now extremely familiar sound of the glitter explosion, followed by Wilbur’s choked “NO!”, his bow is already pulled taught. 

The tip of his arrow is pointed straight at the younger brunette, whose eyes are wide and still staring at where his teammate used to be - a small part of Hbomb lingers for a moment, green not only for that is the colour of his team but also for the longing he feels for a team like that, before he stomps that thought away because that is clearly not the time. 

Inhale, exhale, release. 

Wilbur turns just in time to see the arrow flying towards him. 


	6. MCM team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first ever time I saw video with Jschlatt in it, it was Techno's vod of the time they teamed together in MCM.   
> I couldn't help but write about it, because their interactions are always so good!   
> Also, I'll never forget Schlatt's laugh during the build battle and Techno's when he realised they'd won. Pure gold!!

Technoblade sits, his back to a stone wall and his sword in his hand, waiting for the games to start. 

There’s a group of people chatting loudly amongst themselves up ahead, but Techno’s not interested in snooping. He’s mostly just trying to block them out. He’s not been able to make any actual friends, despite it being his fourth tournament, while everyone seems to be on somewhat good terms. It might be the fact that he’s not famous for much except for killing all of them, and compared to them he’s not famous at all. 

Techno’s foot starts nervously tapping on the ground, his eyes straying to the small virtual screen floating on his right that informs him that the games will be starting later than usual due to some players being late. He wipes a hand over his face and sighs, deciding he might as well sharpen his sword - it’s already sharp enough, he knows, he is aware, but he might just explode if he has to stare at the nothingness for ten minutes more. 

The games are fun, at the very least. He enjoys them, the rush of adrenaline of each fight, and the pay is a big plus - the renown is also extremely welcome, with both the good and the bad it brings him. 

He doesn’t particularly enjoy the yells and screams and dirty looks shot his way before, during and after the events, but whatever. He’s got a tough skin and a naturally intimidatory face - what with the tusks and all - so he can handle his own. He’s been able to until now, why should he stop?

A figure striding towards him reminds him that today might not be a day like any other - they’ve been trying to make it a bit harder for him to obliterate the competition, by pairing him with strangers that aren’t as tryharders as him. 

Techno puts his whetstone away and raises a hand to greet the man speed-walking his way, then promptly regrets. The tall man is evidently late and struggling to finish tying his bright red tie, and as soon as he sees Techno greeting him he grins and raises a hand to wave back, accidentally elbowing a passerby in the face. 

Instead of apologizing, like Techno was hoping he would, the man simply bursts out laughing, pats them on the head and then keeps walking towards his teammate - not seeing or just ignoring the middle finger raised towards him. 

“Hey Technoblade!” Schlatt says once he’s a few paces away from where he’s sitting, and Techno can’t help the way his face falls as he instantly regrets everything that got him into that situation. 

“Oh god please, no.” 

Schlatt’s laughter is even brighter now as he lets himself fall down on the ground next to him.

If Techno is chuckling too, nobody but his teammate is close enough to notice. 

He figures that maybe, this time he won’t win, but at least he’s going to have fun. 


	7. MCM moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is my personal interpretation of a really good scene, taken from the last hunger games during Phil and Techno's teamup for MCM.   
> Their dynamic is amazing, so I do hope I was able to represent it well enough!

“You know, people seem to be avoiding us.” Phil comments, watching for what he thinks may be the third time as a stranger’s back disappears behind a house after spotting them. 

Techno sighs next to him, spreading his arms wide as he turns to walk back towards the main central area. 

“They just don’t want anything to do with us! They seemed so eager during the last minigames …” He trails off, starting to rummage through a chest, depositing objects that apparently he doesn’t need anymore. An iron sword makes its way back into a chest, and for a moment Phil is tempted to tell him not to; all things considered, though, they’re planning on holding their ground there, so if anyone is going to get close enough to grab that sword they’ll probably close enough to get stabbed - or they might have already taken care of both him and Techno, but the older man is trying not to think about it. 

Phil keeps an eye out as Techno does some inventory spring cleaning, his eyes scouring the land around them in hope of seeing anyone - or in hope of seeing nobody, depending on the specific someone he’d be potentially seeing. 

He hears Techno hum satisfiedly, then a bowl of soup is thrust in front of him. 

“Here, it’s just regular soup but it’ll do the job.” Phil stares at the bowl, still smoking, freshly made, and blinks for a moment before grabbing it and adding it to his inventory. 

“Thank you, Techno.” He says, earnestly, shooting him a grateful look: he’d never had doubts that he was a good guy, but he’d been worried of being paired up with someone with the reputation of being a tryhard - not that he didn’t expect to perform well, but he absolutely didn’t want to end up getting scolded if he made mistakes, he was just in it for the fun. 

He then quickly turns back to check their surroundings, and completely misses the joy that colours Techno’s face: they’re getting along, which was to be somewhat expected considering what he’d heard about the older man, but he hadn’t expected to get along so well, to be on the same wavelength for so much - he’s making friends, and this feels like a friend he wants to keep.

A split second later, his eyes catch on a stray particle shining against the dull grey of the stone pavement that circle the area they’re staying in. 

Techno’s expression blanks, and he gently hits the side of Phil’s arm while he unsheaths his sword. 

“We’ve got company. You got my back?” He asks: Philza just lightly hits him back and shoots him a reassuring grin. 

“Always, mate.”


	8. In the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I should say I'm not normally one to write angst.  
> But the idea for this just struck me out of the blue as I was talking with my lovely pal Lando, and I couldn't not write it!  
> Because while Fundy's said he's working for Schlatt just to more easily undermine him, and we all know Schlatt's the Big Bad Evil Guy, but ... what if they were friends?
> 
> Get ready for some real sad stuff, my dears!   
> But do not worry: no character death and no violence ahead.

When the time comes, they all leave. 

When Schlatt is down, kneeling with a knife at his throat, Wilbur bleeding and bruised but standing in front of him, declaring his reign over, they all leave him. 

Which is partially to be expected. 

Tubbo is first, but that doesn't surprise him. The kid's smart, too smart, and a part of Schlatt always knew he'd never truly leave his best friend. 

Then, the missing items, the way his plans were never truly a secret to the enemy - until the very end, even this ambush couldn't have been possible if there hadn't been a man on the inside. 

Schlatt watches Tubbo slowly make his way towards Tommy, watches him collapse against him - the weight of spying for months, of keeping up appearances, the terror of always being one misstep from being found out crashing onto him all at once. 

A part of Schlatt feels sorry for the bright eyed kid that he took under his wing, they could have built so many incredible things together. 

Then Quackity hits him on the side of the leg with his foot, shoots him a snarling grin and walks away, hands in his pockets. 

And that stings - not only for the way the light hit jostles him against the sword at his neck, getting him nicked - because they were supposed to be in it together. 

Schlatt still remembers how Quackity went to him, asked to unite their forces - neither would have won without the other. They were a good team, Quackity animated by the fierce enthusiasm of a man who knows what he wants, and that for sure Schlatt can understand: he'd seen himself in his strength, in his constant will to push forward and do more, have more; a businessman in all but name. 

Schlatt is just sorry he'd never seen that what he wanted wasn't a collaboration, it was just power - but then again, that had been his same exact reason, so he won't hold it against him. 

They could have built an empire together, Schlatt just never realised that. 

And then. 

And then he sees Fundy pass by his side, and that hurts. That hurts, so bad, to see what he thought would be the last one standing. 

Just the two of them, lone wolves, shunned by the rest of the pack- 

"Fundy-" he chokes out, before he can stop himself, and all eyes snap towards him. Wilbur looks livid, his hands clenching around his own sword, and Schlatt bites his tongue until he tastes the metallic tang of his own blood in his mouth.

Fundy's shoulders are tense, so tense they almost reach his ears, but he doesn't turn.

Schlatt remembers him. 

Tentative, shy at first despite his enthusiasm to prove himself. 

His maniacal laughter as he burnt his country's flag down - his red eyes and tear stained cheeks when he got back down. 

The way he used to throw out brilliant ideas as if they were jokes, unable to take himself seriously - or maybe preparing himself to be dismissed. 

How his eyes had widened the first couple of months whenever Schlatt actually listened to him: and how could you not, when he was a hundred times smarter than him? When he could build the things he could? When he could do the things he did - wonderful things, buildings and machineries that to Schlatt looked like strange magical artifacts he wouldn't ever be able to replicate. 

Schlatt remembers their talks. How Fundy had spoken about his father. The resentment in his eyes, the barely masked feeling of being lost, with no anchor in sight, now that he wasn't there - and the freedom that shone in how quickly he gained his confidence and started sharing all of his brilliant ideas. 

The time they spent together just hanging out, chatting like the equals they were. 

The adoration born from being considered as such. 

Schlatt can't look at the fox's shaking shoulders and say, with a light heart, that it was all true at first. 

Because it's what he does. 

He sees a young kid, with a stellar mind but used to being talked over, and makes him his right hand man. 

He sees a brilliant entrepreneur with the energy of a volcano, he makes him his co-president. 

He sees a man, treated like a child, ignored, and he thinks that maybe- maybe they could have built a family together. 

Instead, he watches as Fundy walks forward. He watches as Niki puts a hand around his shoulders. 

He watches as his shoulders start shaking and as Wilbur's hand unclenches - reassured. 

He watches as Fundy turns pained eyes towards him and mouths "I'm sorry." 

And he accepts it. 

Chin up, shoulders firm with a smirk on his face. 

And if his eyes start watering, and one single tear rolls down, he can blame it on the blade pressing against his neck and the knee digging into his back. 


	9. In the End, Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this story grabbed me by the hand and dragged me down to hell.   
> I have to thank both the mcyt adult server and my lovely friend Lando for being the wonderful inspirations for this chapter, which I wrote at 2 am after the stream had ended. 
> 
> I love unhinged Wilbur, it was super cool to see him happy for the first time since he lost the elections! And I have to say his acting was spectacular. 
> 
> TW: mentions of violence and injuries, neither described while happening or in detail.   
> Lots and lots of angst.

When the time comes, he falls. 

It all comes together so perfectly, everything goes according to plan - and it is the worst outcome possible. 

Wilbur kneels in the ash and dust left in his wake and thinks it poetic. How poetic, that his journey ends like this, just like it started but oh so wrong. 

His diamond sword fell to the ground a moment ago, when he’d spotted Fundy emerging from the rubble, coughing, struggling to hold up the limp body of Schlatt. Both covered in soot - and wasn’t that ironical too? - except for the twin lines, one for each of Fundy’s cheeks, that his tears left on his cheeks. 

His son, eyes wide open in shock. How long has Wilbur ignored how old his eyes look, how mature he is? Has he been blind for long, or did Wilbur age him in an instant, with just the press of a button?

There's a ringing in his ears, but Wilbur doesn't know if it's from the explosion or from the shock. 

Still, he can hear Tommy crying. Heart-wrenching sobs as Niki holds him back, while Eret and Bad fuss over Tubbo's body. The kid - god, he was just a kid, a spy working for them, for  _ him _ , his secretary of state - had been right in the middle of the podium. He'd gotten the brunt of the explosion. 

Will felt sick. 

He looks down at his hands. Still so clean, despite the chaos around him, yet he feels- 

His vision blurs. 

He just wanted his nation back - hadn't he gone through enough? Hadn't his people gone through enough? Didn't they deserve some rest?

And he still remembers.

How they started out, all fresh faced and bright spirited. 

Building walls of bright colours, the most eye-sore looking walls he'd ever loved. Making their smuggled slice of territory their own home. 

Writing big words on too small books. 

And he remembers the war. 

The first war: how it hurts to know that they caused them, that after all it was their own choice not to surrender, but how could they have not? How could they kneel, when all they wanted was their nation? 

Wilbur remembers the fear, the plans, the insurmountable effort his men put in. 

He remembers the betrayal. 

And after that, it all went downhill. 

Bad feelings mixing up with each other, piling on top of each other, stacking up so much around him that they became the only thing he could see. 

His country, built with walls high enough to keep the rest of the world out.

His constant testing of all of his men - the few that remained, those that had stuck together with him, and what did they have to show for it? 

The election, rigged from the start - why, when he'd always been there to lead them? Did he not trust them to make the right decision? 

What if the right choice hadn't been him? 

It certainly felt like that at the moment. 

Wilbur most of all remembers snapping. 

He remembers deciding that no, he wasn't going to be noble anymore. No more good guys. 

Most people would think that the event, and all that followed, felt like a blur to him. 

Instead, Wilbur doesn't remember anything more clearly than this in the past few months. 

That, and the crowd's terrified screams at the explosion. 

Maybe that's why his ears are ringing. 

There's a crossbow bolt pressed against his back, just a bit to the right in respect to his spine. 

Wilbur suspects it's Punz, from the way the bolt is not piercing his shirt, nor wavering. He's a good man. 

There's an arrow pointed at the ground on his left, and it keep shaking. Deep down, Wilbur feels sorry for the kid that got to see this. 

There are footsteps coming from behind him. 

A part of Wilbur still hopes it's Techno, who was supposed to follow him into battle: he'd gone and pulled a Dream there, over-preparing for battle, readying to crush his enemies to the dust. 

It hadn't really been a flawless execution, considering how his enemy hadn't been expecting anything other than a festival, but still.

What happens instead is that Wilbur feels the bolt in his back move slightly, then stop. Still pressed against his back. Not pointed to a newly arrived and more dangerous target. 

A moment later, cream coloured pants and a dark green jacket reach his view. 

His heart sinks.

Wilbur watches through glossy eyes - he's not going to wipe his face, not with arrows pointed at him - as Phil hurries towards the group gathered around Tubbo. 

With one arm around Tommy, he produces something from his bag. 

A couple of moments later, Tubbo takes a few rasping breaths and Tommy launches himself into him. 

When Phil stands up, he doesn't turn towards him - and it hurts, but he stomps it down, he's the bad guy now. 

He instead makes his way towards Fundy - and Schlatt, who is also still unconscious. 

A couple of minutes later, his enemy is still breathing. 

Schlatt jumps upright, eyes wide open in terror, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is "Is Tubbo alright?!".

Wilbur's face contorts in pain, and he fights his body which is straining to crumple onto itself. 

His head lowers of its own accord, and all he can see is grey. 

It's fitting. 

Oh, how low he's fallen. Was he ever higher up than the ground? 

Schlatt winning pushed him down but Wilbur- Wilbur built himself a pickaxe, and dug lower.

Reached the molten core of the earth and released it to the surface. He said "if I can't have it, nobody will". 

There's green in his field of vision - and red, but those are just stains. 

Then a gentle hand on his cheek, raising his face. 

Phil is kneeling on the ground in front of him, looking at him like one would look at a lost, scared, abandoned puppy under a thunderstorm.

Wilbur hadn't realised how much he'd been crying. 

"I'm sorry-" he tries to say, but his voice is too thick with tears and his throat collapses on itself around the words. 

Phil rubs his thumb under his eye, softly, trying to wipe away the tears that will just keep on coming, and Wilbur's shoulders shake with the force of the sob that is wrenched out of him.

"I know, Wil." Phil murmurs. 

"I- I just wanted my nation back." Wilbur stumbles over his words, furious at how his own sobs constantly interrupt him and at how he has to keep inhaling deeply because the air just won't stay inside his lungs. 

Phil pulls on his cheek, gently, always so gentle, and lets Wilbur fall against his chest, wrapping an arm around him to hold him close. 

Keep him safe. 

Make him think that it's all just a bad dream. 

"I know, son, I know." 


	10. SMP Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Antartic Empire time!!   
> No angst this time, I promise ahah Only good feels with Dadza!  
> (shh chapter 9 doesn't exists)

Phil has never really gotten used to the cold. 

Back when he’d first decided to settle in the north, he’d been expecting cold weather and frigid temperatures - white everywhere, trees unbent despite carrying their own weight in snow over their branches. 

But he hadn’t been prepared for the cold of the Antarctic: there, his own breath seemed to be congealing inside his lungs, and the smell of logs burning had become more familiar than that of food. There, stalactites and stalagmites were made of pure ice, which was somehow stronger than rocks themselves - they resided in a fortress built to last a century, hung to the ceiling of a mountain excavated by water itself. 

He’d had to upgrade his own gear, in order to survive longer than a night - those were the worst, when warmth could leave you at the worst of times and you could never realise. 

It had been easier than expected, since Techno had come prepared. 

Phil had been able to use one of his coats at first, a fluffy red thing which kept him warm and cozy as they explored the abandoned fortress, Phil’s mind running with ideas on what to do and how to improve their living conditions. A week later he’d returned to their now almost-home with two brand new coats, in tones of white and light blue, in honour of their newly formed Empire. 

The Antarctic doesn't feel like home yet, but Phil is making sure it will soon. He's been leaving almost every other day in order to gather what he needs to make sure they don't need to have fires running constantly in order to avoid freezing to death, and most importantly food - nothing grows where they live, except for ice, and Phil's not that desperate yet. 

As he descends into the heart of the fortress, he's welcomed by familiar sounds: the ever constant dripping of ice melting close to every heat source, the gentle hum of their furnaces, busy smelting ores and warming up their surroundings. 

The only thing missing is the sound of at least a single soul living there. 

When Phil had left, Techno had been deeply focused in his work, scribbling notes on various sheets of papers and tracing lines and trajectories over the huge map of the world he'd bought a couple of days before. He'd been so focused he would have missed Phil leaving if the man hadn't made sure to stop by their study to let him know, so Phil had expected him to still be working there when he got back. 

But as he gets closer, there's no sounds of papers moving, nor Techno's deep voice mumbling calculations to himself, coming from the room. 

The moment he turns the corner into the room, Phil freezes in place. The candle Techno had lit on the desk is almost completely melted, and nothing is moving in the room except for the rhythmic rise and fall of the young man's shoulders as he's hunched on the same desk Phil left him at. 

The older man sighs, both exasperated and endeared, and shakes his head - he should have known he would have been overworking himself. 

He takes a few steps into the room and grabs a spare blanket from the armchair near the entrance, but even that small sound is enough to stir Techno up. 

His head raises, and he squints at him for a moment with tense shoulders before relaxing. 

"Oh, hi Phil." He says, voice gravelly and thick with tiredness, before trying to stretch his back - about a dozen of painful sounding pops later, he looks almost awake. 

"Let's get you to sleep, Techno." Phil comments with a chuckle, setting the blanket back down. There's a moment of pause as they have a staring contest - Techno trying in vain to convince him that no, he can definitely keep working - before the young man lets out an exaggerated sigh and stands up. 

"I  _ guess _ I'm a bit tired." He concedes and follows Phil as he escorts him towards his room. 

"You know, I've almost got it." Techno adds as they walk side by side; Phil turns to him with an inquisitive look, as the man still hadn't exactly elaborated on what he'd been working on. 

Techno leans towards him, a grin on his face as his voice lowers as if telling him a secret. 

"We're gonna conquer the world, Phil. It's gonna be all ours!" 

Now, if it had been anyone else, Phil would have figured it was just the exhaustion talking, making them ramble. But he knows Techno. He trusts both Techno and his skills, his knowledge. 

So Phil gapes for a moment, then bursts into joyous laughter. 

"You and me, mate. I can't wait!" He exclaims, giddy with excitement - when Techno had told him that one day they'd be ruling the world, he hadn't expected him to stick to his words. And yet, the man never stops surprising him. 

"Does that mean I can go back to finishing up my-" Techno starts once his laughter has died down, prompting Phil to turn sharply towards him with a fake glare and a pointed finger. 

"No!" 


	11. SleepyBoisInc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for my favourite bois!!   
> They really have the best dynamics, I cannot believe I only discovered them three months ago!

"Give me one good reason why we can't watch Hamilton." 

"Because we've seen it  _ twelve times already! _ " 

Phil chuckles from the kitchen as he hears the sound of Techno's forehead hit the counter, followed by a regretful groan as the man realizes he probably shouldn't have gone the "extra" route and smacked his head so harshly. 

Wilbur and Tommy's discussion is suddenly interrupted as they both realise there is a much more pressing matter: laughing hysterically at their pained friend.

Techno just scowls at them, rubbing at the sore spot on his forehead, and raises a middle finger towards them - the duo just keeps laughing, unbothered mainly due to the fact that they're both tearing up with laughter. 

The microwave dings from Phil's right, so the man goes to grab a plastic bowl - safety first, especially since Tommy's been asking for a comedic horror movie and Wilbur's in the house - and starts pouring the popcorn in. By the time he's grabbed the chips bowl and returned to the kitchen, Wilbur has started explaining again why they're definitely not watching that horror movie. 

"It's a cult movie!" Tommy protests, gesturing wildly with the disc he's bought from his own place. Wilbur sputters indignantly:

"It came out  _ last year _ !"

Phil rests the bowls on the small table in front of the couch, then lets himself fall down: watching the two of them argue can be considered as entertaining as an actual movie. 

Techno is wrapped in a blanket - winter was definitely harsher in the UK compared than in California - on the armchair next to the couch: he'd claimed it as his, in order to have more space to himself, and Phil couldn't really blame him. 

"You alright mate?" He asks, offering him a cup of water.

"Yeah, I figured they'd be stopping soon but I hadn't taken into account that they act the same irl and online." Techno gripes, sarcastically disappointed - but there's too much fondness in his voice, even when he tries to cover it up by taking a long sip. 

"You know, there is a way to make them stop." Phil notes in a self assured tone. 

Techno is confused for a split second, then he pales.

"No, Phil _ no- _ " 

"Hey guys! -" Phil starts, turning towards the duo and raising his voice in order to be heard "- Why don't you let Techno decide, since it's his first time here?" He's then forced to quickly run away from the couch, as a furious Tehno has started climbing over the furniture in order to grab at him. 

But Techno's still partially wrapped up in his blanket, so he's not as agile as he'd expected, and Wilbur's already clapping his hands together and moving between him and Phil. 

Whether it was inadvertently or on purpose to actually prevent Techno from committing a murder, Phil doesn't really know. 

But now Techno's half laying on the couch, with Wilbur on his side and Tommy climbing on the armrest and over Wilbur himself in order to show Techno his disc. 

And Phil is perfectly fine, with his own armchair and a bowl of steaming hot popcorn. 


	12. Fanmade AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter will also appear in the D&D au story, because it's a continuation of that ahah  
> It's a bit longer than usual, and I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> If you like this au, make sure you check out @/whatimevendoinhere on Tumblr or @/artlandom on Twitter, they've made some stunning art and animations for this au AND they've been a really good friend and we've been creating this au together! Go give them some love!!

That is how, about four hours later, Tommy finds himself sitting on his bed, legs crossed and fingers tangling in the threads he's trying to weave together. 

It's a mix of light blues, pinks and reds that Techno called "a weird choice, but whatever floats your boat", which had sent his patron into hysterical laughter. Tommy had hoped he'd been sarcastic, as he'd colour-picked from Techno's own outfit. 

But one could never be too sure with the Blade: he was a cryptic man, with a cryptic past and an unwavering unwillingness to share anything about what he thought about, anytime, about anything. 

Which was fine. Tommy liked guessing, and he considered himself smart enough to be able to start picking up clues. Most of the time.

He was no Phil, who was apparently able to understand everyone, everywhere, at any time. Even animals, too, which had been a concerning discovery. Not the fact that he could understand and be understood by animals, that was perfectly fine once considering he had horns due to making a literal deal with a demon, and Techno was half pig. It was just that Tommy had found out Phil could speak with animals by finding the elf in deep conversation with a passing squirrel - who had apparently been extremely rude and stolen some of the nuts Phil had been gathering. The disagreement had been resolved by splitting the nuts evenly, as the squirrel had had a family to feed. 

The thing was, Tommy had had a chance to talk about the infamous friendship bracelets with the other two as they'd walked back to the tavern, and by now he knew that all three of them owned one. But what Phil hadn't neglected to comment on was that - to his knowledge - Techno didn't own one. Which made sense, on a certain level. He was the one making them, and he seemed to own the strings to make them. Phil had been meaning to buy one to gift him, but he's said he knew it wouldn't have been the same. And he couldn't ask Techno where he could find the materials needed and keep it as a surprise. Not to mention that he didn't know how to replicate the intricate weaves and knots of the bracelets; he could try, but he knew he wouldn't be able to easily succeed. 

Which left Tommy with the perfect chance. 

The plan was simple. 

Techno had offered to help him rebuild his bracelet, but he’d never explicitly said if Tommy was going to weave his own or if Techno was going to make him a second one. 

So, once they were all fed and satisfyingly comfortable, Techno would take out his threads and start working on it. Then, with his usual enthusiasm, Tommy would ask if he could also help. Maybe by learning how to weave together bracelets himself. 

Techno would humm, but probably give in after a bit of insistence. He never really enjoyed verbal conflict, and Tommy was counting on that. 

Then everything would be set! Tommy would choose the colours for Techno’s bracelet, make it with his help, and everything would be good!

As of right now, most of the steps in his plan have gone off without a hitch. 

The only thing not working perfectly well is his own skills at weaving - maybe once he used to have an artisan’s hands, but now they’re clumsy, less sensible. The effects of not being used to his newly found powers at first had been to constantly - and accidentally - set his own hands on fire. With permanent scars up to his elbows and a handful of points where the burns charred away his sensibility, he’s not much one for delicate and precise work. 

But Tommy is nothing if not determination personified, so he grabs each strand with too shaky hands and does his damned best. 

Techno is sitting across from him, also on the bed, mirroring his posture and slowly explaining each braiding step. His voice is lower than usual, a side effect of being extremely tired, but he’s not snappish or strict. He’s unexpectedly calm and mellow: Tommy wonders if it’s the exhaustion or just how Techno behaves when they’re not in life-or-death related situations.

All things considered, once he understands what he has to do, the slow, repetitive movement becomes extremely soothing. He can see Techno doing this to relax in the few moments of downtime their lives allow them.

They're not alone in the room.

Phil is meditating on one of the other two beds in the room. He’d been drained after the fight, looking after them all and taking care of the few civilians that got injured due to the attack. 

After they’d gotten back into the room, he’d disappeared for a moment in order to go bathe, then returned, given them all a final look and then promptly passed out on the bed with a smile on his face. 

Wilbur had made sure to fix the covers around him. 

The tiefling was currently also sleeping, but he was stationed on the same bed Techno and Tommy were sitting on. It made for a bit of a cramped situation, but Techno had stated that he wasn’t going to move anymore if it wasn’t to go to sleep, and Wilbur had said that he always took the bed closer to the window. 

So there he was: curled up between them, one leg on Tommy’s lap and his back pressed against Techno’s side. 

If Tommy had been any less observant and in the mood for a discussion, he would have mentioned how Techno could have easily moved half a meter away in order to be extremely more comfortable, or how Wilbur usually just chose any random available bed. 

But he was tired and he had other objectives - he was already planning on bothering Techno, getting him annoyed would only be counter-productive. And Tommy was also quite observant: he still remembered how Techno had jumped into a blow aimed at Wil’s throat just a couple of hours earlier, saving his life and efficiently dispatching of the brute trying to kill him. 

Everyone was still feeling a bit messed up after all those close calls, there was no need to state the obvious. Especially when saying nothing meant Tommy could feel the warmth of Will’s still very much alive body against him. 

It doesn’t take much time; they’re bracelets after all, you can only make them so long. 

Tommy stares at the one in his hands, and is suddenly filled with so many contrasting feelings. 

Joy is the first, of course. He’s been able to achieve so much since he left his hometown, and everything he’s achieved has been due to his own determination and intelligence. He might not be the smartest person ever - he can name at least one, even though that doesn’t necessarily mean he will - but even he can’t deny how well he’s been able to play the cards he’s been dealt. 

Then there’s shock, at the realisation that he has actually become friends with the legend he used to hear people talk about in hushed whispers while he was still living in his hometown. 

Melancholy is another: a part of him longs for what - who - he left behind. 

Then he feels like he needs to get better at making bracelets, and maybe sleep for a couple of days. His back is hurting and the scabs on his arms are already itching up a storm and it is "bored patron with too much free time" levels of annoying. 

As Tommy stomps down the protests of his patron inside his own head, he hears Techno hum lightly to catch his attention. 

"You're done? I finished yours. Unless you prefer to keep the one you made yourself." Techno comments, offering the bracelet he's just completed. Wilbur shifts slightly as he's lightly jostled when Techno reaches towards Tommy, but he goes right back to sleeping. 

Tommy gives him an honest smile and a heartfelt "thank you", then wastes no time in grabbing his new friendship bracelet: a stunning thing in black, red and orange that looks as fierce as he is powerful. 

"And here, this is yours." Tommy says, after a moment of unabashedly admiring the stunning handiwork he now owned. It wasn't like his old one, but it still felt the same - the meaning of it was intact, and the shape and colours were similar. One could even say that now it meant more: after all, they'd made it together, in what nobody could deny had been a true bonding moment.

Tommy's hand, holding the bracelet he made, stretches out towards Techno.

There's a distinct pause as Techno's hands hovers in the air and his eyes widen in what looks like pure shock - Tommy has *never* seen anything like it, Technoblade is never surprised. And yet.

"Uh?" 

Tommy decides it is getting a bit too warm in the room, as doubts and worries start filling his mind: what if he doesn't like it, it looks so bad compared to the ones Techno made, after all it's his first try, he should have asked for more string to practice and made him a really good one. The young man pushes the bracelet into Techno's hand hastily - the sooner this is over with, the better. 

"We figured you didn't make one for yourself, so I made you one. Consider it as from all of us. Now you're *our* friend, Techno, and there's nothing you can do about it!" He concludes with a proud grin, hoping it masks his internal worry. Thankfully, he's still fearless enough to keep eye contact, because that allows him to see Techno's face simply melt as his fingers wrap around the bracelet once, then open up to allow him to study it closely - Tommy would call it reverently, but then his patron would laugh again.

"... Thank you." Techno murmurs a few moments later, and with that all of Tommy's fears and doubts are smashed like fragile glass, scattering into the nothingness. A bright smile opens up on his face and he's unable to stop himself from beaming as he lightly punches his friend's shoulder.

"No problem, big guy. ... Now, where do I put this so that nobody accidentally breaks it again?" He asks, tone light and humorous in hope of exiting quickly the sweet moment they'd entered, which was turning into awkwards at the speed of light.

"Well, if you have like a necklace, you could tie it there and keep it hidden under all your shirts." Techno drawls out, sounding more and more tired as he goes on. 

Tommy decides it's as good a time as any to finally hit the hay, so he stands up and stretches his back - reveling in the satisfying pops that follow. 

"That is a smart idea, big guy. Have you been sitting on it for a while?" Tommy jokes, starting to fix his bed. 

"Well, it was actually Phil that did it first. He tied it to the same necklace he keeps his engagement ring on."

Tommy chuckles, Phil always knows best- his arm freezes in the air, one hand still holding his pack because he'd been meaning to look for something he could use as a necklace but now his brain is just static. 

He turns back towards Techno, who is staring back with a mix of sheepishness and confusion. 

"What- what do you mean engagement?" Tommy asks in a feeble voice and Techno just rubs the back of his neck shrugging. 

"He's supposed to get married when he goes back, apparently."

Tommy starts gesticulating wildly, pointing first at Phil, then at Techno, then at the world around them as he loudly mumbles his way into about twenty different beginnings of sentences before his shoulders drop and he shuts his mouth.

A beat passes. 

And to be honest, Tommy is too tired to be thinking about this, but-

"What do you mean go back? Is he gonna leave us?" He asks, and Techno looks extremely uncomfortable on the other side of the room. Instead of an answer coming from him, the voice that speaks first comes from behind Tommy.

"I'm not gonna leave you, Tommy. If anything, I plan on bringing you all for the ceremony." Phil mumbles, scratching his stubble as he sits up on the bed. Damned elves and their need for just a handful of hours of sleep, now Tommy has to feel awkward for nothing.

Phil stands up with a groan, then stretches; taking a couple of steps forward, he nods at Techno as he claps a hand on Tommy's shoulder. 

"Help me push the beds together?" 

"Only if Wilbur gets up, I'm not moving the bed with him on it." Techno deadpans, moving to the bed Phil's closest to in order to help him lift it - they're not getting thrown out of the tavern for being too loud at three in the morning. 

A deep chuckle comes from the ball that is Wilbur's not-so-sleeping body, and his performance is betrayed even more by how his tail starts swishing left and right. 

"But what if I asked please?" Wilbur says, one eye peeking from his crossed arms. 

"Then you're staying there with that bed." Techno replies instantly and a moment later the bed between him and Phil is lifted. 

Wilbur huff, rolls out of bed, waltzes towards Tommy - messes up his hair just because he's in a good mood - and quips back:

"You're no fun, Technoblade." 

A couple of minutes later, once they've all found their places on the bed, Tommy is resting with his head against Phil's chest and his tail wrapped around Techno's leg - a mirror to Wilbur's which is tied around the arm slung over his side. 

It's comforting, and warm, and Phil's carding his hand through his hair. 

Techno's new friendship bracelet is an unfamiliar feeling pressed against his chest, but he knows he'll get used to it. 

Stifling a yawn, Tommy whispers:

"Congrats on your marriage, big guy." 

Just so that Phil's wheeze is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.


	13. Female Streamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niki's side of the story on the Dream smp is exceptional, I personally love it!
> 
> It really shows how much they’ve worked on the whole story and how good of an irl DM Wilbur is, because each character has such interesting storylines? And holy moly the acting??

Niki thinks she'll never get used to the sound of her own panting breaths. 

As she runs, all she can hear is herself getting more and more tired; the sound of her feet hitting wooden planks turning to stone turning to soft grass is a relief: it means she's getting away, it means she's safe, it means she'll make less noise. 

Niki feels like she's been running for an eternity when she stops, stumbles into a halt, half-falls behind a tree and lets her back slide down until she's sitting on the ground, and she doesn't know if it's the fear or the exhaustion pulling the air out of her lungs. 

But still, she needs to be quiet. Stifle her gasps, hold one hand still with the other, try to stop her trembling limbs - when was the last time she ate anything? When was the last time she slept? 

She needs a safe place to stay. 

L'manburg - the day she stops calling her home by its real name will never come - isn't a safe place anymore. 

Pogtopia has no space and no resources for her. 

But she has something left. 

The thing is, nobody expects her. 

She's not known for being a fighter, she's not known for her riches. She has that to her advantage. 

Niki has always been able to rebuild - she's just never had the reason to prove she can to the world. And that is perfectly fine for her. 

Niki might be scared now, but she's never been helpless. 

There's one of Tommy's houses away from here, where she can find food and shelter for a while. There, she can start back up again. A base of operations, like her friends would call it. 

From there, she can start planning. 

She needs food, then sleep. 

Niki refuses to be broken. 

She refuses to let go - that is her home, her family, her history. All of her memories there, the good and the bad, all of the moments she lived. She swears to herself she will walk those paths again, and she will make new memories there. 

As for her bonds, those she still holds, the friends that are waiting for her, she will see them again. And those that have been broken or strained - there is enough love in her heart for them to be healed. She will not hold a grudge. 

Objects can be burned and rebuilt - she refuses to abandon friends and family forever. 

For the first time since she started running, Niki breathes in and smells the fresh air of the pine forest around her. Feels the light cushion of the grass under her body. She closes her eyes against the sunlight, lifting her face so that the rays can give her warmth. 

When she opens her eyes again, her vision is clear. She knows where to go: north, and forward, towards her revolution.

Niki stands up using the tree behind her as support, then brushes off the dirt and stray leaves off of her body. 

She's got this. 

Her enemies won't know what hit them.


	14. Favourite Minecrafter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do believe in Philza Minecraft supremacy.   
> From the moment I found out about him, he instantly became my comfort streamer.   
> He's just that good.

The sun is a scorching source of heat over his head as his shovel hits the sand for the thousandth time. 

Around him are endless plains of golden, shining with a powerful glare against his eyes - he brings a hand to his face to cover his sight, squinting against the light with a tired huff. 

There's sweat beading on his forehead, his hat is sticking to his head and he's long since discarded his coat. 

The rhythmic sound of the sand being moved into his shulker chest has become almost hypnotic, as each action repeats itself and the minutes mold into hours. He has  _ a lot _ of sand to gather. 

Ever since he's started making this world of his truly his own, he's had this project in mind. He's achieved many things between the first time he thought about it and now, when he can finally start actually working on it, but still. The dream is just the same as it once was. 

If he closes his eyes, he can already see it: an endless ocean, floating above the emptiness of the End's void. A stunning array of colours, with marine animals gently swimming about. Soft blue prismarine lights shining like stars. 

It is not a fixed project yet- he isn't fond of putting himself limits, especially regarding his own creativity - but he does have a general idea of what it'll become. 

Step one, is making the glass encasement that will allow him to swim around and stare outside as if there was no boundary between his artificial ocean and the void. 

He has already amassed an impressive amount of black dye, after testing its efficiency in making the glass as see through as possible. 

Now all he's missing is the sand for the glass itself.

Working on a project is always exhilarating. 

There are constantly a hundred of ideas bombarding his brain as he ponders what he can add, or how he'll be able to obtain the effect he wants with a certain block. 

As he works the most menial of tasks, collecting sand under the desert's sun, he can't help but love the wonderful simplicity of doing what he loves most - creating. 

He completes each task with no hurry, for he has all the time in the world - his world - and as many project as his mind can create. 

By the time the sun has risen and fallen four times, he has stored enough sand to be sure he won't have to make sudden trips back to here from the End realm. 

He picks his coat back up, gently slides it under his elytra and a moment later he's soaring through the sky. 

The wind under his wings and through his hair is a welcome relief, especially for the slight sunburnt parts of his face and shoulders. 

And as he flies towards home, he feels at peace.

Nothing like a good time of resource gathering for a new project to put him in a good mood. 


	15. Male Streamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Fundy time!   
> In honour of tomorrow's festival and of a headcanon me and @/artlandom (twitter) have been thinking about for some time now!
> 
> This is *HEAVILY* inspired by Lando's comic so make sure you go and give them all the love!! It is simply stunning and it hurts so good ahah  
> https://twitter.com/artlandom/status/1314723725841965056?s=20

At first, he was supposed to be a double agent. 

Play pretend, follow orders. 

Prove his loyalty, burn the flag, tear down the walls, forsake his father, erase history-

He would hide in plain sight, act as if he did belong, while he waited for the right moment. The moment to strike. 

All to take down Schlatt from the inside. 

But lately, things have been happening. 

Weird, peculiar things that Fundy is not proud to admit are unusual. 

Unusual for him at least. 

One day, some time after he's rebuilt the flag in his name - hours of mining obsidian paid off in the man's appreciation - Schlatt calls for him in the middle of the day. 

He takes him to Manburg, where the grass has just started growing again after they tore down the walls, and simply … walks with him. Side by side, on the path of wooden planks that somebody - probably either Bad or Eret - took the time to build. 

Schlatt talks about the future, but not of his own: he explains what he plans on doing for what is left of the nation. 

An office building, so that they can have a nice place to work in when (not if) there'll be more people living in their wonderful nation. 

A set of apartments, because you can't have people living in the streets or in ugly houses. 

Restaurants and fast food places, because "have you noticed how there's literally no food around? God bless that Bad guy, running around giving chicken to everyone, but imagine how better it would be if we were the ones selling!"

And then, once they've reached the end of the walkway, Schlatt puts an arm around his shoulder and turns them both around, so that they're staring at what is left of L'Manburg. For a moment, Fundy doesn't see the missing pieces, but the  _ potential _ for what there could be- how could he not when he's spent the past fifteen minutes listening to plans and projects.

"So, what do you think? Do you have anything to add? Any suggestions?" Schlatt asks, and Fundy's brain struggles to comprehend the question. As he struggles with coming up with an answer and the realisation of how bad it is that such a simple question threw him for such a loop, he manages to stutter out a simple:

"I- uh- I don't know?"

Schlatt sighs, almost exasperated, but instead of letting go, he just squeezes his shoulders tighter for a moment and waves his hand towards the space in front of them.

"Come on, Fundy, don't give me that bull! I know you've got a good brain in your head, I'm asking for ideas, not self doubt!"

And it sticks to Fundy, like a gum to the shoe. It sticks to him, and he doesn't forget, even as he lets himself be swept up in the enthusiasm of thinking up new plans. 

A couple of days later, they have a meeting scheduled to talk about plans for the future and … recent events. There have been some incursions lately, things disappearing, paths being broken, questionable wooden signs being placed, and everyone’s a little on edge.

As everyone presents their pieces of information, Fundy stands to Schlatt’s right.

Tubbo is his right hand man, Quackity is his second in command, but the president himself had insisted on him staying close. 

“You're a good fighter, I trust you to keep me safe" he'd flippantly explained, waving a hand towards him as he fixed some papers, missing Fundy's shocked and awed expression. Responsibility. It’s all he’d ever wanted, so he’d quickly made his way towards him and stood a little straighter. 

And nobody had batted an eye, so there Fundy stands, one hand on his netherite sword, listening to the meeting while his eyes keep scanning their surroundings. 

It’s not like Pogtopia is going to attack them in broad daylight, they’re not that desperate yet. So Fundy can focus on his job, keep the president safe and make him proud-  _ gain his trust. _ Gain his trust, of course. He already trusts him enough to keep him as his own personal guard, Fundy is doing really well.

With a small tap on his side, Schlatt catches his attention and gestures to the blueprints for a newly acquired project, waiting for approval.

Lately, Fundy's been thinking.

He’s left Manburg for an afternoon, told nobody where he was going, and just walked through the forest for a while. He felt like a bit of time away would clear his head. 

That was definitely what he needed: time to think. 

Instead, as he walks and listens to the sound of the world around him, his head is simply empty. Not a bothersome kind of empty, just a simplicity, an easiness, like a burden leaving his shoulders. 

Not like the burden in his backpack, resting like a stone ready to be cast against himself if anyone were to find it. 

His heart would want him to remember a simpler time, when he didn't spend every day of his life fearing for the moment that will give him away and reveal him as a traitor- and at the same time, he's hoping to be found out to be one, so that he can stop pretending, stop living a lie that has started to fit too well, too perfectly, too comfortably for his own good.

Maybe Wilbur was right to take away his options, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to work for Schlatt anymore, maybe that would stop the thunderstorm in his mind and heart. 

To be fair, there hasn't been a time of peace on the server since … since the beginning. Or maybe just since he was born. Should that make a difference to him?

A rustle of leaves makes him jump in his skin, but it's just the chestnut coloured nose of a fox to peek through the overgrown grass and dark pines. His heart aches for Fungi.

Maybe it did make a difference, how all he's known since he was born is war and conflict. 

Maybe he deserves some rest, some quietness. Some stability. 

An authoritative figure that doesn't dismiss his ideas - no, now is not the time for remorse. Not when he's about to cut all of these feelings loose. 

The forest around him gives way to an endless field, and in the distance he sees the ocean. 

Fundy doesn’t know if he should, if what he’s about to do is the right choice, but he knows he’s going to do it anyway. 

He stares at the brown tint of his spy diary as it sinks into the ocean, words being lost forever, and he thinks. 

Maybe Schlatt is not half as bad. 


	16. The Start of a Series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I in love with Wilbur's Random Skyblock series? Yes.  
> Is there anything I have to add? Nope. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy me trying to match Wilbur's philosophical approach to this game.

Wilbur has never been a fan of silence.

He loves the sounds of people around him, the noises of their talking, their laughter filling his ears and his heart with joy. 

Wilbur loves music, of all types and kinds, loves listening to it, making it, humming melodies under his breath and tapping his foot on the ground to follow a song playing on the radio. 

This makes it so that his first real problem when he spawns is the lack of sounds. The lack of anything, really, other than the noise of his own breathing and the rush of blood in his ears. 

It's not fhat bad, per se. 

He's not a big fan of how the endless void spreads around him: everywhere he looks there is nothing, except for the single shining light of the sun during the day and the reflection of the moon during the night. It's a surreal slice of the universe he's managed to find himself stuck in. 

If that wasn't enough for it to feel weird, the fact that once every few minutes random items will appear in his hands makes it even stranger. 

He is, of course, hoping for a way to make himself more living space. 

While there's nothing bad with sitting down, letting his feet dangle over the void - hell knows how hard this would be if he suffered from heights -, he also has better plans than just doing nothing and keeping himself busy with literal mind games. 

Food is also a preoccupation of his: he knows he can jump in the void and respawn on his island again if things go badly, but he would ideally prefer not to do it. 

He doesn't really know what he's planning for or what he wants to do. 

There is, to be fair, not much to plan. Or at least, not much that he can plan that relies on getting the specific blocks he needs. 

But that, he thinks, is the beauty of it. He's stranded, afloat on a single block, hoping that the fates will bring him what he needs, not knowing what exactly he will need and what he will be given. 

Simply at the mercy of randomness, holding on to what scraps of luck the fate gives him, and doing his best with them. 

Endless void and countless possibilities spread before him, and Wilbur knows he's smiling excitedly. 

He's got his whole world under his feet, and his future in his hands. 

Isn't that, at the core of it all, what life is really about?


	17. The End of a Series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm strong enough to admit that the ending of Randomized Skyblock had me tearing up.   
> Wilbur is just too good at creating pathos.

To be completely honest, Wilbur's never gotten used to spawning in a new world. He's not fond of it, and he doesn't think he'll ever be: it leaves him disoriented and feeling slightly sick, and it always takes him a little while to understand his surroundings - he mostly despises this, being unable to know where he is. 

Still, he is ready and willing to do this for Milo. 

After he's walked around the platform he's never been able to call home - one that he built himself, block by block, painstakingly - he sits in front of the second command block he found in his hands, clutching an iron bucket with Milo in it to his chest. 

Is he ready to say goodbye? Wilbur is not so sure. He's ready to move on, to discover new worlds and meet new and old friends alike. But he's not sure he's quite ready to say goodbye to Milo, after all the things they've been through together. 

So, he reasons that he will do Milo just one favour, then move on. He owes it to him, even though he is simply a fish. Milo still holds a dear place in his heart.

With a deep breath and one last look at the fish happily swimming in his bucket, Wilbur activates the command block. 

The world they find themselves in is boundless oceans everywhere they look. It's perfect for him. 

It feels almost weird, being able to see the bottom of the sea; the presence of an horizon shocks Wilbur at first, but the enormity of the ocean around them makes up for it - isn't an endless ocean the closest thing there is to the infinity of space?

"This world is yours now, go and explore it." He whispers to Milo as he gently tips the bucket into the sea. The fish flops outside, disoriented for just a moment by the vastness of his new swimming pool, before his instincts kick in.

As he watches Milo swim away, his goodbye echoes, morphed, distorted by the water around him, in his eyes, in his ears, thankfully not inside his lungs. 

Milo reaches a bank of fishes that look just like him, and Wilbur feels a gentle squeeze around his heart. 

The water sloshes gently around him, a fish swims by and leaves bubbles in its wake. A crab underneath him clacks its pincers at a stray fish, curious enough to bops his face into the crab's of outer shell. 

A dolphin sings up ahead, calling his friends to jump with him.

Wilbur has never liked the silence.


	18. Dream Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing about the Dream Team, which is funny because it was actually them that got me back into mcyt back in June ahah
> 
> I do hope I managed to get them right!

“I’m telling you, it’s impossible!” George protests as he watches the vision of his character goes dark and he respawns at the beginning of the darned parkour section. As Dream’s tired chuckles fill his headset, he lets his head fall onto his arms with an exasperated groan. 

He’s been trying to make this jump for twenty minutes, and at this point he knows he should probably move on to another section, but his stubbornness is getting the best of him. 

George is confused for a moment as he doesn't hear anything from Sapnap, then an extremely loud cheer makes him flinch - almost fall off his chair - and reach up to move his headphones away from his ears.

Seems like Sap was deeply focused on his own section, and the man had succeeded too. 

"Good job, Panda, you got it!" Dream cheers, tone soft and just a little sleepy, and that's when George realises that they've been at it for a bit too long. His own sleeping schedule had been messed up for longer than he remembers, but Dream joined their call after speedrunning practice about five hours ago, he's bound to be getting sleepy. 

"Have you had anything to eat in the past ten hours, Dream?" George asks before he's able to stop himself - the downside of not having Bad in the call is that all of the older brother instincts are shifted onto him. 

As expected, Dream huffs out a small laugh. 

"Yes, dad." 

While Dream's answer is less expected, George instantly anticipates what is going to be Sapnap's response by putting his hands over his face in preventive regret. 

"Oooh, Dream, you're calling George daddy? Please don't do this stuff in front of me!" Sap protests in a mock offended tone, which immediately prompts Dream to burst into his usual wheezing laughter as he tells his younger friend to shut up. 

George decides it's time to maybe take a little break, and teleports back to the beginning of the course before getting his slightly cramping hands off the keyboard and mouse, opting to grab himself a glass of water and a snack conveniently places on his right. 

The water's room temperature, but at least his biscuits are still good. His friends' laughter and silly debates accompany his break, and he makes sure to interject every now and again - he can't leave them to their own devices for too long, least they start plotting against him while he's literally on call with them.

A couple of minutes later, after he's finished his self declared snack break, he claps his hands together twice. 

"GUYS- guys! Is either one of you going to help me wigh that bloody section or are you just gonna keep fighting about kinks?" 

Silence falls. 

Nobody speaks up. 

George blinks twice, flabbergasted. 

"Alright, well, fuck you both-" he's not even finished his sentence when both burst out laughing. 

And despite his best efforts, George can't help but chuckle along. 


	19. Survival (A Tale of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for a request I got on Tumblr by the lovely user @/octopus-defense-squad <3
> 
> They asked for a d&d version of Hbomb, and how could I not deliver?   
> If you're curious about this character, or the AU, you can find more either in my other story "That one SBI d&d AU", or on my tumblr!

Hbomb has been his name ever since he left his hometown. 

It didn’t serve any specific purpose, other than hiding his true name - not that it was impossible for an arcane user to simply open the backdoor in his mind and take a quick peek inside. But still. 

It was a nice and simple way to separate his past from whatever adventures he was going to embark in, for better or for worse. 

H must admit that he’s not proud of everything he’s done in his life. 

Sometimes, coin and situations bring people to do things that they wouldn’t have normally done. He’s not fond of killing and the hits he gets are few and scattered around his life, like somebody stumbling a handful of times during a marathon, no matter how much they stick in his mind, refusing to let him go. But jobs are jobs. 

And at least of that he is proud. He gets the job done, and he is well known for that. Not that he is generally well known, but still. He has gained enough renown that he doesn’t have to actively look for jobs anymore.

Still, the thing is. 

Hbomb has been his name for almost forever, and yet that one time he almost doesn’t recognise it. 

To be fair, the voice that calls it sounds more like a chorus of many different voices, speaking in multiple languages - H knows five different languages, ok, he’s not dumb, but he has a really hard time comprehending what it’s being said - and all coming from the same point a few feet behind him. 

It’s both a whisper and a song, and to be completely honest all it does is creep him out, jump in his skin and hurry to sit up, hand moving to grab his longbow. Which is supposed to be right next to him. 

Instead all he grabs is grass. Bright purple grass. 

H blinks, confused, only then noticing that there is light around him, yet he’s sure he only went to sleep a couple of hours ago. 

Then he looks up, towards where the voice came from, and he nearly screams - nearly being a key word, as his instincts tell him to scream and freeze at the same time, so what he ends up doing is let out an extremely high pitched “eh” sound that lasts about a couple of seconds. 

The scene in front of him is both stunning and extremely disturbing. 

Over fields of purple grass shines the light of two red suns, bright over the backdrop of a pastel orange sky. In the distance, a forest, but instead of dark green pines - or even bright purple trees- , all he can see are huge brightly coloured mushrooms.

And then, a few paces away from him, a figure sits, cross legged, gently floating over the grass - the strands seem to reach upwards towards them, as if attracted by some sort of gravity. While H is familiar with tiefling, the ones living in the material plane usually have only one set of horns, none of which pulse with silver light, and one set of eyes, instead of having most of their face covered in them. 

Somehow, without the aid of any eyebrow, the figure seems amused. Maybe it’s the unnatural curve of their smile - are those additional eyes on the palm of their hands, or just tattoos? H really doesn’t remember drinking that much the earlier night. 

“I’m going to excuse the damage you did to my creation, since you seem to be a bit lost. Don’t you know where you are, child?” 

A flower takes flight from one of their horns, turning into a butterfly midway. H has  _ no idea _ where he is. 

The chuckle that resonates in the air around him sounds like wind chimes, and for a moment he’s reminded of an old friend, an old companion that he used to travel with, a bright eyed warlock who loved to wear flowers in her hair, simply because they would turn into butterflies as she fought. 

H’s lips part in a small “oh”, as if he’s understood something, but to be honest he’s more lost than before. Surely the being sitting in front of him isn’t-

“No, I am not. She is one of my children, still. You came … recommended. Your skills have been evaluated, your deeds have been found worthy.”

That certainly piques his interest. Choosing to ignore how the individual in front of him is currently reading his thoughts - which is quite rude in his personal opinion -, he’s always been fond of Shubble, and she did seem like a reasonable and trustworthy person. Not to mention her cool as hell powers. 

Still, one should be always careful when dealing with mind-reading beings.

“What do you mean? Worthy of what?” 

“Capabilities. Powers.”

“Like?”

“Like you’ve never seen.”

“Would you be able to … elaborate? Please?”

“No.”

Hbomb is going to have a headache. Normally, he’d loathe such a conversation, and he would probably be quick to walk away. But it’s not like he can leave. 

“Oh, but you can. I just brought you here to let you know you’ve been chosen.”

The cheshire smile on the being’s face is deeply worrying, especially since their mouth doesn’t seem to enjoy following the usual anatomical constraints one would expect to find in a mortal. And apparently now he’s signed a contract with them? When did he sign? Can he un-sign? 

Another chuckle fills the air, this time sweeter and warmer, like a hug on a winter night. 

“There is no need to be afraid. You’re not bound to me, not like your friend is at least. Try to focus. Find the connection inside of yourself.”

H isn’t a stranger to meditation - his parent, being an elf, had taught him everything he’d needed to know. So he stares at the creature in front of him for a moment, waiting for any sign that he maybe probably shouldn’t do this, then he closes his eyes. 

It takes him a moment, but once he finds it, it’s impossible not to see it. 

There’s a thread inside of him. Like a string of silk, hanging, floating at the center of his chest. It floats towards his hand as he becomes aware of it, tangling between his fingers, moving on its own as if it were water, or wind. A snake coiling around in his hand. 

While his eyes are closed and his mind is focused, the being’s voice resonates inside his mind, clear as the crystals their eyes were made of. 

“Be good. Good luck, plane traveler.”

There’s a quick pulling sensation around his gut - not a bad feeling, per se, but certainly an unexpected one - and then.

Hbomb’s eyes open to the darkness of the night. He’s back in the same place he went to sleep in. 

But now, there is a slightly luminous tattoo on his right hand, which gives off a feeble light: a purple snake, coiling around his fingers, and a remotely familiar drawing of multiple circles on his palm. 

Digging around, looking for what the circles represent, takes a while. 

But he does remember talking, a few months back, with an arcane scholar with a passion for creating things out of thin air. 

That, on his hand, is a drawing of the planes of existence. 


	20. Fanmade AU (Tubbo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo.
> 
> Crossposting this here as it is a fill for MCYT WritingTober AND a request from a lovely anon on Tumblr AND a new chapter for my d&d AU.   
> I love being efficient.

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar. 

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored. 

_ Absolutely unrelatable. _ Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit. 

Nothing they hadn't done before. 

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong. 

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard. 

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times. 

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour. 

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone. 

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had  _ tried _ , but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle. 

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such. 

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident. 

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third. 

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it. 

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued. 

  
  


It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different. 

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright. 

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance." 

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up. 

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will." 

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems. 

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories. 

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate. 

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn. 

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever. 

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children. 

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head. 

No, he's not going to bring it up. 

Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring. 

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground. 

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are. 

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz. 

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression. 

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?" 

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship. 

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make …  _ this _ , maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar. 

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises. 

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable. 

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

  
  


When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown. 

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him. 

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on. 

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind. 

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page. 

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again. 

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh. 

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself. 

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself? 

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure. 

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it. 

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels. 

Tubbo's going to be alright. 

  
  


Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend. 

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal. 

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes. 

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier. 

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement. 

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked. 


	21. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kindly requested by an anon on Tumblr to write some Skeppy and Techno content, and since "Skeppy tries to troll me but I troll him first" is one of my all time favourite videos, I just had to do it.   
> I hope you'll enjoy this, and I hope you'll have a wonderful day! <3
> 
> (Thank you all for the lovely comments, I know I haven't said this before but you people really make my day, I always make sure to answer all of you because you're all so very sweet and kind to me ahahah <3 )

Techno has been working on creating an easy access towards the mines for a couple of hours when he hears the door slam open.

He's mature enough to admit that he'd been getting worried: the sky had turned dark a while ago, and even though he had made sure the small wooden shack was both safely illuminated and easy to find, he had no idea where his teammate had disappeared to. 

So the fact that he's finally back home is somewhat of a relief, even though-

"Oh honey, I'm hoome!" Skeppy calls from the entrance with what Techno knows is a shit eating grin on his face, making him instantly regret ever being worried for his well-being as he lets his head fall against the stone in front of him. 

"Oh Techno? Where are you?" 

"Nowhere to be found, thankfully!" He answers, starting to climb the stone stairs up to the main area of the house. When he reaches the entrance, Skeppy looks mostly fine. 

There are a couple of cuts and scraps on him, and what looks like a former arrow hole in his shirt - with no arrow nor fresh blood in sight, so it must have been old -, but he's standing up on his own. 

"There you are! The house looks good, I like it! Do we have any beds, I'm about to pass out." Skeppy starts walking towards the chests Techno carefully prepared, arranged by item, and dumps most of his inventory in. 

"We can make some if you've got wool." The half pig comments, already resigned to not having ordinate chests. It's not like he's going to be able to keep them sorted either. It was a good effort while it lasted. 

Skeppy starts rummaging through the chest, then lets out a triumphant "Aha!" and turns to Techno. 

Holding a single block of wool. 

"Skeppy that's not enough." A part of Techno wants to be mad, but the idea that Skeppy thinks a single block is all they need is too funny for him not to snort out a laugh towards the end of the sentence. 

"Well- Don't you have any other wool?!" Instantly retorts Skeppy, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing out in annoyance. Techno simply blinks for a moment, hoping this is some sort of elaborate prank - it’s not unlike Skeppy, for sure, so he has to be joking.

"No?? I asked you to gather food, mainly animals, so I figured you'd get at least some sheep!" 

Skeppy’s eyes widen, and it’s enough proof for Techno that this is: one, not a joke, and two, a huge overlook on his part, thinking that Skeppy was listening to him as he ran away from their designed home base. The shorter man gapes for a moment, waving his hand as if it was a loading screen, then gestures at the closed chest.

"Wh- well I got seeds." Techno doesn’t really know whether to be angry, disappointed, or to simply laugh as he puts his hands on his face and groans. 

"You got seeds?! Bruh …"

He hears Skeppy bark out a laugh as he moves towards the chests, probably to retrieve his seeds. 

"Come on, we can make a farm! It'll be fun!" Somehow, his enthusiasm isn’t enough to distract Techno from the much more pressing problem. 

"But we have no beds!" Skeppy visibly deflates at the realisation that he’s not going to be able to sleep for a while - he looks tired, honestly they both are, so a bed would have been extremely handy. 

"Well- it's alright, I'll go tomorrow morning. I'm not that tired yet-" He tries to sound convinced, but he interrupts himself with a yawn towards the end of his sentence, and that ruins the effect. Techno has to focus on keeping an unimpressed expression to both prevent himself from laughing at his friend and to avoid yawning too. 

"Yeah, sure, I believe you. 100%."

" _ You _ are an asshole." Skeppy instantly replies, pursing his lips in an extremely pitiful attept at suppressing another yawn. 

"And you are a nuisance." Techno lets out a deep, long, exasperated sigh, then he takes off his cape and gives it to him. "Go to sleep, I'm not having you falling asleep in a mine."

There’s a blissful moment of silence, when Skeppy is too shocked to say anything as he clutches at the cape, then-

"Aww, thank you Techno!" He says, in the most cheerful and adoring tone possible, and it grates on Techno’s nerves  _ so badly _ , the man just starts walking towards the stairs down the mines. 

"Shut up."

"So you do have a heart!" Skeppy calls from the entrance, his voice echoing down the stairs, making Techno groan loudly in response. 

"I am not listening to you!"

"You are so kind and generous-"

Desperate times call for desperate measures: as Techno starts walking down the stairs, he lets out a loud, monotone "AAA" in hope of drowning out Skeppy's voice. 

The sound of the other man's laughter follows him down into the mines, but that's not half as bad.


	22. In the Mines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not over how tragically and drastically they dropped the possible dad!Schlatt au.   
> Ripperoni peperoni I guess. 
> 
> Still, the idea for this was born before the festival so ... Here's to what we could have had ahahha

Fundy is not exactly fond of being woken up at the crack of dawn, especially if it is to spend the rest of his day working on a bloody underground pathway. 

But when Schlatt comes knocking at his door with a self assured smile, twin axes and a plan, there’s not much he can do. 

Fundy’s not sure that the path Tubbo has made is completely for them - he’s got a bad feeling about it - but he’s not going to question the kid’s loyalty. They don’t need to start looking for traitors and liars and spies among Schlatt’s personal circle, it would only lead to either bad discoveries or lower the morale intensely - neither are things Fundy wants. 

But he can take a morning of chopping down trees, if it means chatting aimlessly with his president. The man can hold a conversation, sue him. 

It has nothing to do with not-so-recent changes of heart. 

It takes them a bit, but after getting about a stack of wood combined, they move into the tunnels. From there, it’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of placing down the blocks to complete the path, make it a bit larger than a single square, so that nobody’s at risk of slipping and falling. 

The part of Fundy that can appreciate nice things wants to take down the outer layer of stone, cobble and various ores that create a sort of plain and ugly looking sight. It could be improved with some stone bricks, maybe some smooth diorite; even the path itself is just monocolor wood slabs, it could do with some different shades!

But to be quite honest, Fundy’s a bit scared of what he could find if he took away even a single block. Who knows how many diverging paths are born from this main one. 

His suspicions get even worse when, halfway through the afternoon, they run into Wilbur, who seems to be just passing by - coming from where? going where? just how dangerous for Manburg is this path?

Still, they have to make good with what they have, so Fundy lowers his axe, wipes sweat from his forehead, and nods towards the other man. 

“Hello, Wilbur. What brings you here?” Wilbur shrugs, eyes moving slowly as he takes in the sight in front of him - Fundy’s not going to acknowledge the slight envy in his stare, he is  _ not _ .

Schlatt stands up straight on his left, from where he’d been crouched down trying to grab a slab of wood that had fallen off the path. 

“Nothing much, just taking a stroll. Seeing the sights.” 

Schlatt snorts out a laugh, gesturing to the stone walls. 

“You mean this shit? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Tubbo’s made an incredible job, such a brilliant idea, but. This isn’t much of a sight. Now, Fundy here, I bet he’d be able to make something pretty out of this!” Schlatt exclaims, giving him a small tap with his elbow, and Wilbur on the other side of them suddenly looks livid. 

Looks like Fundy’s eliminating himself out of the conversation earlier than expected. 

“Don’t sell Tubbo so short, he’s capable of doing very great things! His house used to be very pretty.” 

“Well, yeah, before it got burnt down! You know what’s not getting burnt down, ever? Fundy’s flag. What a brilliant idea! He is so smart, really. And talented too, he came up with the flag all on his own!”

“Stop.” Fundy tries, despite having his back turned to the rest of the group, as he feels his ears starting to burn. He’s not good with compliments, alright?

“He- he still has much to learn.” Despite the different sort of burning this comment evokes, Fundy keeps on working on the path - maybe if he ignores the whole situation, they’ll just stop. 

“Wh- He can run circles around me and you, Wilbur, come on!”

“Please stop.” Now he turns, feeling his whole face burn, and he’s met with an array of mixed feelings stamped on Wilbur’s face and the back of Schlatt’s head. His president immediately turns, looking elated despite his raised finger and stern expression.

“I will not! You’re very smart, and have brilliant ideas!”

“Oh my god-” Fundy cannot cope with all of this, so all his brain can help him with is raising his hands towards his face in an attempt of hiding his embarrassment. 

“And I trust you with my life!”

“Oh my god, dad, can you stop?!”

Silence, blessed silence, falls in the tunnels. 

Fundy turns back to his work, finally satisfied, and completely misses the aftermath of his statement. 

“Fundy-” Schlatt’s voice starts, sounding extremely amused - and slightly awed, which is disturbing, worrying and never a good sign. 

“I swear to god if you start with the nice things again.” Fundy turns, but the man has his hands in front of him in a placating gesture.

“No, no, no more nice things for now I promise. But Fundy- Fundy do you see me as a father figure?”

Fundy’s mind draws a blank. He blinks. 

“ _ Excuse me _ ?! What- How- Why?!”

“Fundy you just called him “dad”.” Wilbur adds - and oh, wow, Wilbur looks sick, pale as a ghost, eyes wet like he’s about to cry, holy shit. But he’s not making any sense. 

“No I did not.” Fundy answers, just the slight edge of panic making it into his voice because what if- but no. He did not just do that. He did not. 

“But actually, you did.” Schlatt answers, the grin on his face widening and - nope. He is not doing that. Fundy refuses to deal with that at the moment. Possibly forever. 

“I’m done. Keep the extra wood, I am leaving.” 

And then he leaves. Walking. Not running. Not hoping nobody follows him. 

Not wishing the tunnel would open up under his feet and swallow him. 

Is it too late to go and live as a hermit?


	23. Fanmade AU (Fundy&Niki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This was also a request from Tumblr ahah
> 
> I'm always super happy to see how much you all are enjoying this Au, so I hope you'll like this chapter too!! <3

It starts like this: the whole gang is looking for a new job to tackle, with Techno, Tommy and Tubbo looking at the town's mission board and Wilbur and Phil needling the town's guard for more high profile tasks. 

Half an hour later, a bored and disappointed trio meet up with a radiant Wilbur and an impressed Phil.  
They have a job and the pay is five times higher than normal.   
Apparently some dumbass has been running around the county, scamming nobles with fake artifacts and cursed precious objects. The nobles are mad, they want their coins back and the scammer in jail - or possibly worse -, and they are willing to pay an embarrassingly high amount of coin for it to be done quickly and quietly. Quietly being the highest requirement. 

And that is how the SleepyBois start tracking this infamous scammer down. 

First, they find all of the victims.   
That alone takes them a while, because nobles are tricky to navigate and scorned nobles are even worse - and somehow these scammed nobles all seem to be not that good people, if the way they treat the adventurers trying to help them is any indication.   
Still, one may assume that spending a lot of platinum coins on things that turn out to be fake and haunted might make you a bit … confrontational.   
Also, they're going to make a lot of coins out of this job, so it's not like they're going to say anything.   
Then, they buy a new, spotless map of the region with about a quarter of their collective coins - “Philza Greenwood we should have accepted the one from the kind old lady.” “You know that was cursed, we’re not doing this again.” - and start writing down every location hit.   
It’s not that hard, once they put Tubbo to work, to find a handful of possible towns their target is going to hit.   
It's honestly impressive how quickly he's able to narrow their options down, sending Techno and Wilbur out for recon missions to specific locations, guiding the whole team in a weirdly familiar way; straightforward and decisive like Techno, gentle and responsible like Phil, switching between the two attitudes as easy as he breathes.   
Wilbur's only seen him like this when he works on his creations before, and it's amazing how quickly he gets over the initial sheepishness and steps into his role.   
Everything is good and wonderful and he fits perfectly into the team, and this is just another proof of it.   
The only bad thing about the whole situation is how bloody smug Tommy is, since it had been his idea to let Tubbo handle the planning - the kid can gloat, Wilbur's got to give him that, even if he is right in doing that.

Ever since the two childhood best friends had reunited, Tommy has been … more. Not in a bad way - no matter how much Techno jokingly groans about it -, but it's evident how much there was something weighing on the kid's mind before this.   
But right now it's not really the best time to think about this.   
A couple of nights ago, Tubbo had narrowed the list of possible new noble families that were going to be hit down to a single name. An old timey, very strict and reclusive family, now mainly composed of two grandparents and an impressive array of disowned young adventurers, and workers of all types. Reasons for disowning were many and varied and all a bit ridiculous.   
Apparently having a bad temper and even worse record of mistreating everyone around you was the common denominator for all the people being targeted, alongside having an extremely absurd amount of coin.   
Phil knows, he's seen it in Wilbur's eyes the moment Tubbo told everyone his deductions, that the tiefling would be more than happy with just letting the scammer go with a slap on the wrist. Everyone is slowly leaning towards that, Phil himself is too, but he's not really going to mention that yet, especially as they're all gearing up to stalk the scammer back to their hideout.   
Especially since they can't really let this chance go: the fact that Tubbo was able to narrow their options down to a single family means that if this isn't it, they'll have to start from scratch. 

When they leave the tavern, packed light and ready for the expected stealth, it's a couple of hours before dawn.   
Everyone is thankfully able to see in the dark - even Tubbo, who is a human like Tommy, since he used his knowledge of glass-making and arcane enchantments to forge himself some night vision goggles - and they move quickly in the shadows, their silhouettes hidden even more due to one of Phil's spells.   
This is also the first time Tubbo's bees aren't making any sound - apparently their buzzing is purely aesthetic.   
Reaching the family's manor is not hard nor it takes longer than expected, which is quite unusual considering their experiences. Once they reach their destination, they hide near the entrance then Techno vanishes - probably gone inside the main gates to see if their target has already arrived.  
About fifteen excruciating minutes later, Techno reappears, one hand already on Tommy's mouth to prevent him from yelping in surprise and reveal their position. The fact that he is perfectly correct in his assumption doesn't prevent him from receiving a swift kick to the shin.   
"He's inside. Seems human, dressed like a scammer would be dressed. Or a very extravagant seller. Showing off a floating statue." Techno relies the information as he rubs the now sore spot on his leg, side eyeing a very offended Tommy while Tubbo is red faced almost to the point of tears as he desperately tries not to burst out laughing.   
"Good job." Phil confirms, trying very hard to stay focused on the task - this all is extremely useful information, both in case of a possible fight breaking out and because in all the time they've been searching for the scammer, they've had nothing but mixed information from their targets.   
One time it's a sweet looking cleric, another time they're a buff half orc, then it's a tiefling with a missing horn- every time something new, but the only constants have been the extravagant clothing choices and them being a magic user.   
Wilbur punches the air with gusto, conveying silently what everyone is more or less feeling, and then they resign themselves to some uncertain amount of time of patiently and quietly waiting.   
Phil has a spell to hide them again ready for whenever they hear somebody getting close.   
Techno takes the time to meditate.   
Wilbur is tapping a finger against his leg with his eyes closed, so he's probably writing a song in his mind.   
Tubbo is taking notes on his notebook, planning another upgrade for his crossbow.  
Tommy is about to vibrate out of his skin.   
Everything according to plan. 

Then, finally, Phil hears footsteps approaching the gates.   
He casts his spell, shadows elongating from the trees they are hiding in, wrapping around them, covering them, fake greenery taking form in front of them- and everyone is instantly on edge.   
"Are you sure you don't want a totem? They're good luck! They'll protect you against evil spirits - those old crooks must be beacons for them!" A quick paced voice reached their ears, and Techno's dagger is already out.   
A much quieter voice answers - only Phil manages to catch the irritated negative answer, but everyone hears the gates being slammed shut.   
There's more footsteps, then their target enters most of their views.   
The man - probably? - takes some steps, back straight and shoulders moving with a light chuckle - when his eyes stray towards them.   
He blinks once, twice, then his eyes switch colour.   
He stops in his tracks.   
Raises a hand and gives a quick wave.   
"Uhm … cya!" And then he disappears, vanishing into thin air. 

Techno curses loudly next to Tommy.  
"Wilbur-"   
The tiefling stands up and his eyes turn pure black as he raises a hand towards the place where he disappeared, muttering a quick song under his breath before calling out:  
"Tubbo!"  
A bolt from the kid's crossbow flies in the direction Wilbur's pointing at a split second later.   
It flies, but doesn't strike true, barely grazing the scammer's jacket as the man moves out of its way. Right into Techno's thrown dagger which hits him right in the side.   
There's a loud, weirdly pitched "shit!" coming from the empty air in the space in front of them, then nothing but the sound of someone fleeing as silently as they can.   
Instead of following suit, like one would expect, the rest of the group turns towards Techno, who's holding his dagger - now back into his hand - and mouthing a prayer against the stained blade.   
There's a light humm coming from nowhere and everywhere that echoes in Techno's mind for a moment, then he opens his eyes.   
"So, do you have him?" Tommy asks, feeling the urge to pursue their target itching under his skin.   
"Yup, I've got him. Nice job with the crossbow, Tubbo." Techno answers, shooting a small smile to his short companion, who shakes his weapon proudly.   
"It's quite easy to shoot in order to make people move a certain direction, you know, once you know what to do!" 

Tracking down the scammer is quite easy now that Techno has cast his tracking spell on him.   
They wait for a moment, reconvene, make sure they have everything they need and then they start moving.   
They don't have to walk much, as Techno lets them know that their target has stopped moving and they're getting closer extremely quickly.   
In the end, it's a small, cute looking wooden house that they reach. It seems small and well kept, with clean windows and bright flowers on the outside. It's a bit hidden amongst a thicker part of the forest, but it gets enough light to be comfortably illuminated.   
Wilbur figures the scammer ran and hid here, in hope of either having them lose his tracks or to maybe use a civilian as human shield.   
Phil gestures towards the house, to which Techno answers with a decisive nod, so the elf approaches the door and knocks.   
"Hello?" A feminine, accented voice answers from behind the door.   
"Hi, I'm very sorry to disturb you, we're a group of adventurers looking for a runaway criminal, have you perhaps seen anyone suspicious running around?" There's a beat of silence, then a long, drawn out humm.   
"I'm very sorry but I don't think I can help you with that? I was busy baking inside, I haven't seen anyone." The voice answers back, seemingly sheepish and apologetic.   
Wilbur takes a step forward, shooting a glance towards a suspicious looking Techno.  
"Our apologies, but would you mind letting us rest inside your abode for a little while? We've been out all night looking for clues, and we will pay you for your kindness."  
After a slightly longer than expected pause, the sound of keys jingling reachea the team's ears.   
"Oh, yes, of course. It's a bit small here, but- We can make it fit." 

Phil knows enough Celestial to recognise the accent in the woman's voice; seeing her almost aethereal being open the door cements in Phil's mind the fact that yes, the person in front of him is of Celstial descent - that, and the dusting of silver and golden freckles across her face.   
"Oh my, there- there's a lot of you."   
Phil gives a sheepish smile, an apology ready on his lips - she is hiding their target, for some reason, but that doesn't mean he's going to be rude about it - but Tommy is already striding towards the entrance.   
"We'll be good and squeeze together, promise!" He exclaims, quickly hitting Wilbur in the side with his elbow as he passes him.   
The tiefling shoots him a murderous glare, which instantly disappears and turns into a kind smile the instant he realises that the aasimar woman is looking at him questioningly.   
"Are you all part of the same group?" She asks as they shuffle in. The house is slightly bigger than expected, with everything looking both very clean and very lived in - books left open on a table, a chair that hasn't been set back, a blanket thrown on an armchair instead of being folded properly. It's homely.   
There are a couple of colourful looking birds flying around the place, and they instantly flock to Phil the moment he enters the kitchen - following the woman's instructions. To be fair, there are plenty animals hanging out in the whole house: he's sure he heard a squirrel running in the corridor, and there were a couple of tortoises in the living room.   
And then, on the window sill next to the kitchen table there is a fox, sleeping curled up under the sun. Techno, on edge from the tracking and the oncoming social interactions, really envies the tranquil animal.   
"Is there anything you need? Something to drink, maybe? I was making some bread, so-" the woman starts, taking out a still smoking loaf. Everyone but Phil is instantly glowing: how often are you offered freshly baked bread? And mostly for free? That really is something special, that must be surely cherished.   
And yet, Phil is not looking at the woman - who is still yet to introduce herself - but at the fox. Still sleeping peacefully, after they'd opened a single eye at the sound of strangers entering the room.   
"That is very kind of you, miss …?" Wilbur asks, eyes constantly switching between the offered food and the stranger's face.   
"Oh, you can call me Niki."   
Phil moves closer to the fox with a small smile, one bird still perched on his shoulder, and extends a hand slowly, hoping not to startle the animal.   
The fox blinks slowly at the fingers floating right in front of their eyes, then huffs and moves their head so that Phil can start giving them little scratches, tail swishing lazily - all this, while the rest of the team does a round of introductions. 

"Niki, your fox is adorable." Phil comments after a moment, while the others are eagerly helping out Niki in finding a knife to cut slices of bread with and honey, which apparently she makes herself.   
"Ah yeah, thank you. His name is Fungi." She answers with a small smile, making Phil chuckle. The fox's tail keeps swishing from side to side, probably to convey his appreciation of the continuous pets he's receiving, but one of his front legs seems to not be making any movement. A quick, focused, look confirms his suspicions.  
"Oh dear, he seems hurt. Let me heal him for you." Phil comments, worry colouring his tone, as he focuses his intent into the palm of his hand, lightly resting on the injured limb.   
As his magic knits back muscle and tissue and blod cells, Phil watches intently as the stab wound shrinks and then disappears. Then, he picks the fox up, cradling him in his arms as Niki gets closer, a look of deep worry on her face - one of the first true emotions she's shown since they got there, Phil notices, which only serves to confirm his suspicions.   
"Oh, thank you so much, I'm so very glad, he just keeps getting into messes!"   
There's a moment of pause, then Phil starts scratching the fox's chin - his tail starts wagging noticeably quicker.   
"Did you know foxes are known for their cunning, but they're actually pretty dumb?" Phil starts, prompting everyone to turn towards him in shock and deep confusion.  
Phil merely chuckles.  
"You agree, right, little guy? I can see it in your eyes, there's nothing going on in that little brain of yours, right?" He teases, cooing at the little animal before- in a mix of slightly disturbing deformations and a blink-and-you-miss-it transformation - the fox in his arms suddenly enlarges, his limbs elongating and face rounding out.   
Now, this would have probably come as a big surprise to akl but instead it looks quite funny because the moment the small fox becomes a human sized man with for ears, all the instantly added weight crashes into Phil and sends them crashing down to the ground.   
But since they've all gotten used to a skinchanger moving from their human form to their animal one, one way or another, all that remains is the hilarouns scene of a laughing out loud Phil sprawled on the ground with their red faced, extremely irritated target kneeling on top of him.  
"Fuck you, man! That was so mean!"

For a moment everyone is just staring at each other, trying to understand what has happened, until when Techno speaks up.  
"Well I guess we found our scammer."


	24. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's angst time again!
> 
> My apologies in advance ahahah   
> I just have a lot of feelings and the worst instigator ever ;)

The first stage of grief is denial. 

This is mainly why Schlatt takes so long to see what is happening right in front of him. 

Let the records show, he is not dumb. He is just … refusing to see. For personal reasons. 

He might see him disappearing from time to time. See him running away from Manburg - sometimes with the very special and very secret documents he entrusted to the kid. 

But it's nothing. It's gotta be nothing. 

Tubbo is a quirky kid and a very smart one, he surely knows what's best. 

The thing is, though, that it's not a one-time thing. It's not even a two-time thing. 

And Schlatt is doing his damned best to ignore this, but when it keep happening, and when the rest of his advisors start to tell him about  _ their _ suspicions … 

It irritates him. 

He gave Tubbo so much, from power to responsibilities to his own personal respect. He gave him all of this because he trusts Tubbo to do the right thing!

To do what is best for Manburg, regardless of all the sentimental value the former dictator and his lackey hold. 

And this is how he repays him? By acting so suspicious that people start coming to him? 

To do what, too? To let him know that Tubbo has been out of Manburg for a while, then that he came back home later than usual, then that he grabbed some documents that he shouldn't have- As if!

As if Schlatt hadn't seen it all already!

Who do they all think he is, just some drunkard with too much power in his hands?!

But maybe it's his fault. 

Maybe his is just a drunkard with too much power. It went to his head too quickly, maybe. Maybe he should have been nicer, kinder. Maybe he shouldn't have banished Tommy. 

Tubbo would be happier with Tommy in Manburg, that is for sure. But pardon Wilbur? Impossible. He would never accept his authority. 

But maybe he can compensate in some other way. The idea for the festival hits him out of nowhere, but he is extremely satisfied with it. 

This will be it. He'll give Tubbo free reign over the event, let him have fun. Let him play around with new responsibilities - Schlatt is not going to think about his old plans of possibly letting him take over in the future, he is not. Especially when he's trying to win him back over to his side with a festival. 

And a speech. 

Letting him make a speech will allow the kid to think about the past months, about the importance of what they're doing. 

Maybe it will make him realise that he's done some good, too. 

Maybe it'll change his mind, bring Tubbo back on his side. 

Was he ever on his side? 

It's the night before the festival, and Schlatt has just finished locking all the doors in his house. 

He dismissed everyone earlier, saying to get a good night sleep in preparation for their big day. He even ruffled Tubbo's hair and gained himself a dishonest smile. 

Schlatt has time. 

He has time, and a bottle of something strong that will knock him out fast.

First, he takes off his tie and cufflinks, setting everything down correctly in order to avoid any creases. Then he unscrews the bottle and throws the cap away - it's not like be plans on not finishing the bottle. 

Tonight, he is ready and free to drink himself to sleep.

And if he breaks down after the first couple of sips, nobody's around to judge him.

The final stage of grieving is acceptance. 

But not for him. He refuses to accept this- he is not going to. 

Quackity finds him the next morning, looking awful - feeling worse - and laughs about it, ushering him to take a shower and telling him he stinks. Schlatt's too tired to even quip back, and that most of all ticks his vice president off. 

But Schlatt has made up his mind.

He's now a man with a plan, and there is nothing anyone can say to stop him. 

The festival has been slowly turning into something else, something darker, and the worst thing is that he hasn't needed to change anything except for Tubbo's speech. He refuses to give him another chance, so his speech is hand-written by Schlatt himself. 

His time is over. One too many strikes.

"I would rather rule alone than with you by my side." The words like venom on his tongue, they taste like the bile that he feels rising in his throat. He is not going to stop now. There is no turning back. 

The kid in front of him is a traitor. He conspired against him. Probably planned to kill him. It doesn't matter how Tubbo's hands are shaking as he grabs at the bars standing between the two of them. No matter how his eyes are watering, pleads for him to stop spilling from his mouth. 

Schlatt manages to keep eye contact for just a moment. Then, thankfully, a shadow appears at his side.

"I want you to kill him, Techno, and make it hurt." He says, looking away. He can't see the horror on Tubbo's face. He doesn't trust himself not to call the whole thing off. 

He needs this. This won't give him closure, but it will surely make him feel better for a little while. 

And when Techno presses the trigger, and the explosion takes him with it, Schlatt takes it. 

Takes the pain, the hurt, the betrayal, and accepts it. What else can he do. 

Just another one to add to the endless list of knives in his back, he picks it up and slots it near the others himself. 


	25. Win (Fanmade AU: Cxlvxn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The d&d AU is back! I am cross posting another chapter as this is, once again  
> 1) a fill for the WritingTober  
> 2) a Tumblr request  
> 3) a new chapter for the d&d Au story that you can find in my other stories!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy! <3

"So this is the infamous Technoblade."

If anyone had told Tommy that he'd one day see Techno pale, recoil and stand up straight immediately just by hearing some random dude call out his name, he would have called them fools. 

And yet. 

Here they were, all sitting at a tavern, having lunch after they'd finally arrived in a town with actual living people in it - ones that didn't want to kill them, hurray! - just talking amongst themselves, hanging out. 

And then a random dude dressed like a random forest scout just appeared behind Techno, thinly insulted him and that was enough to make the rogue seemingly scared for his own life. 

What the hell was happening. 

Techno had been worried. 

Ever since they'd entered the town. 

He knew that village, he'd spent a lot of time there, training, with one of the most relentless fighters he knows. 

Techno had hoped, hell, he'd prayed that he wouldn't be found, but … there was little he could do to hide, despite the fact that his identity was usually mostly unknown. 

And he knows that voice. He knows it because he can still remember it yelling at him to  _ get back up, you dumbass, it's not sleeping time yet!  _

Techno squeezes into his own shoulders and turns on his chair, ignoring the worried looks of his teammates. 

He stands up, eyes trained to the floor, and then gives a bow so deep he's afraid he's going to fall over. 

"Master Calvin." 

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Wilbur and Fundy's voice yelp out from his right, as if Techno wasn't already regretting everything that had ever led him to that moment. 

And then Tommy bursts out laughing, because Techno's life is an endless array of increasingly unsurprising nightmares. 

As expected, there's a quick pat on his head - followed instantly by Tommy's chocked out wheeze - and by now Techno is starting to consider the benefits of bailing out on them all. 

The only reason he won't is because he knows who's standing in front of him, and he knows very well that he's either not going to make it out of the door, or he's going to be found later. Either way, he's going to have a bad time if he tries to leave. Techno bites his tongue and stands back up. 

As soon as he meets Calvin's eyes, the elf bursts out laughing: first a snort, then a hand flies to his mouth to keep in hiccupping giggles, then the utter traitor lets go and soon after his loud guffaws are resounding in the mostly empty tavern. 

"Oh, oh by the gods, Techno, you look like you swallowed a lemon whole. Cheer up, man, you're not my student anymore!" He exclaims between one chuckle and the other, punching his arm lightly - not that lightly though, he's not able to not be strong and it is honestly so unfair - before moving a chair from another table and joining them. 

"You guys mind? I'd love a chance to catch up with little old T." He asks as he sits down, Niki currently the only one able to answer with a silent nod as the others are all red faced, looking at Techno who's not so subtly rubbing at the newly sore spot on his arm. 

Wilbur has actual tears on his face. 

Techno is so not ready for this. 

"And that's how I found him the next morning, hanging by a foot, tied to the pole, swinging lightly- actually sleeping!" 

Techno has stopped regretting his existence two stories ago, and is currently just trying not to see the expressions on his friend's faces as Calvin mercilessly destroys the image of a powerful and skilled combatant that Techno has spent so much time creating. 

At least it's just them in the tavern. 

That, and Calvin still hasn't proposed a sparring session "for old times' sake".

He counts his wins on the fingers of a single hand. 

Techno had figured that after the first story of how they'd met - he'd stumbled into a guard while trying to steal some food, and therefore gotten himself thrown in jail for a week while Calvin was working for the town's guard - he'd be satisfied with the embarrassment caused but no. He should have known the elf would have thrived off of this. 

An elbow hits him lightly as he's hiding his face in his crossed arms, half lying on the table, having given up on groaning his way out of the situation. When he turns his face, there's a slightly pinched look on Niki's face, her brow furrowed as her eyes move from him to a spot behind him - right where Calvin is. 

Techno gives a quick, tight lipped smile. 

Yes, he's suffering, but no, he doesn't need Niki to kill him. 

Her eyes soften and Techno sees her hand move towards the side - to tap on Phil's arm, who shoots the both of them a reassuring smile. 

"But still- Alright, I'm done torturing him-" Calvin starts a moment later, prompting Techno's shoulders to relax an inch and several protesting groans from people that will perish by his swords before the next morning. 

"Nah, nah. Storytime over. I have to go in a while too. Are you guys stopping in town or do you have somewhere else to be?"

"We're not working on anything at the moment." Phil answers shrugging lightly, then taking a sip from his by now rather warm ale.

"Why? Do you have a super difficult task to give us?" Tommy asks immediately after, leaning over the table - his face is still red and he still has watery eyes from laughing too much, he will be the first to go. 

But Calvin on the other side of the table shakes his head and looks down at Techno. 

"Not a task per se. But a friend is holding a tournament, and I already sent one of my students there to compete, so …" 

Techno's back snaps straight immediately, almost flipping his chair backwards. 

"How big of a tournament are we talking." 

Calvin bursts out laughing immediately - one time, what seems like ages ago, Calvin had taken him aside and explained him that he'd broken his "no favourites" rule for him, only because nobody had ever been able to match his enthusiasm and sheer  _ need _ to be good. 

"Very big. There will be many people, and many important ones. It's organized by this friend of mine and Noxite-" 

A sudden shrill sound interrupts Calvin as Fundy seems to explode and implode at the same time, jumping in his chair as his tail starts thumping loudly against the floor; he's clutching Wil's arm too, in what seems to be a rather painful way. 

"You mean the best magic users in this whole plane?!" Fundy asks, tone a couple of octaves higher than usual and loud enough to cover Wil's tentative plea of "can I please have my arm back". 

Calvin's got a Cheshire smile on his face as he nods - once is enough for Fundy to turn, dead serious, towards the rest of the group. 

"We gotta go. You guys don't even understand, we're going. We are so going." 

About ten minutes later, after getting all the informations they need for this fabled tournament, Calvin stands up - and by force of habit Techno does too, he doesn't want to talk about it - and says goodbye to all. 

"It was lovely to meet all of you, and I'm glad you're taking care of him. The gods know he won't do it himself." He quips, giving him a light nudge which awakens Techno from his awkwardly stunned state - he's still reeling from the fact that he stood up when Calvin did. 

"Accompany this old man outside, will you?" With a small nod towards him and one towards his team, Techno follows his former teacher outside. 

It's almost midday, so the streets are now much more full of people than they were the previous night when they arrived. 

Still, since it's chilly outside, not many stop or care about the two of them. The fresh air is also a good thing. 

When Calvin turns to him, it's with an earnest expression on his face that makes a small part of Techno ache with nostalgia. 

"I'm glad to see you're doing well. When you disappeared, I knew you'd be onto great things, but it's nice to see you got yourself some great friends too." 

_ I missed you too _ seems both too little and too personal. 

_ They're my family now _ feels like too much to admit. 

Unable to answer in a way that seems appropriate, Techno simply nods.

"You know, if the embarassement didn't murder you, Fruit opened a monastery that is conveniently on the way to the tournament." 

Techno rubs a hand over his face, feeling extremely tired but also knowing that he is surely going to stop by. Still, he gives a small smile. 

"I'm glad to hear. Sensei did always talk about wanting to do that. I assume TapL is with him." 

Calvin answers with a small chuckle and a nod:

"Of course, of course. So, am I going to see you at least once before tbe next century?" Techno scoffs, aware that the quip is perfectly reasonable and mostly deserved. He did bail on him without even saying goodbye.

"You'll see me in a couple of months after I've won the tournament." This prompts Calvin to burst out laughing, despite Techno's unimpressed stare. 

"You say this now, but I do have another student fighting there." 

"Do they know about me? Or have you got yourself a new favourite?" Techno asks, crossing his arms over his chest with a daring tone - which is mostly pretend, but still. 

"Well, it depends on who wins. But he does know about you." Calvin answers, starting to move away, walking backwards.

"I see, I see. How do I recognise him, so that I know who to crush instantly?" Techno asks, having to raise his voice a bit in order to be heard. Once again, Calvin is laughing as he answers. 

"Just look for the cockiest half orc with an axe! Good luck, Techno!" 


	26. Creative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled programs with some short and sweet Grian content! 
> 
> I do hope you'll enjoy it! <3   
> Thank you all so much for the support!

The good thing about being in creative, it’s that you can do all sorts of things. 

It doesn’t take much to move from one place to the other, and if you ever find yourself making a mistake, it means you can easily erase it and make something new, without having to spend an endless amount of effort and resources to fix it. 

Especially obsidian. 

Gosh, Grian hates dealing with misplaced obsidian when he’s in survival.

The only bad thing one could find about creative mode is the fact that floating around all the time can be quite a bad experience if you’re not used to heights, and it gets even worse if you’re not a fan of rollercoasters whenever you fly upwards or downwards. 

Being used to both creative mode and elitras, Grian’s not suffering that much, not even after hours spent working on this new project. But still, he can see how it could get tiring. 

As Grian’s feet touch the ground, his flight coming to a stop as he decides to take a moment and check up on how well his creation is going. With a notepad in his hand and a quill in the other, both magicked into existence, he starts to take stock of all the components that seem a bit off. 

A tower on the right side that should be just a bit higher, a window that’s a bit too thin; there’s a patch in the wall where he tried to mix cobble with bricks and smoothstone, and it looks … it looks like something, alright. Maybe he can try and replicate the pattern on another side, just to make sure he wants to actually go through with that. 

He’s still not sold on the small garden over one of the balconies: it looks pretty, but do the orange vines look vibrant against its stone surroundings, or does it just look like a weird splash of colour in what is a mostly blue-grey-brown structure? Is four too many colours for a colour scheme? Is another balcony going to fix the issue? Maybe some coloured windows?

Orange stained glass appears in his hand as he ponders what to do next. 

Is he really going to substitute most of the glass in the castle with orange stained panels? 

Grian can’t exactly shoot a look at the sun and see what time it is, or for how long he’s been working on his build, because he created a world especially for it, where time never passes and night never comes. And being in creative mode implies the rather sweet perk of not feeling his muscles strain or his brain telling him he needs to go to sleep - depending on how much time he actually spent here, he’s either going to sleep extremely well tonight or he’s going to pass out the moment he returns to the main server. 

But again, Grian does like to live dangerously, so he stretches his back, picks out the perfect shades of stained glass to test, and gets back to work. 


	27. Hardcore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead!! Not that much, thankfully. 
> 
> This is the possessed!Schlatt AU that wouldn't leave my mind.   
> It is also a cut version of the complete story that you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232759) !
> 
> I am posting this version here, which can be 100% survive as a standalone, because otherwise I would have had to up the rating for some not so light themes that are mentioned. 
> 
> STILL. Trigger warnings for this chapter are: nightmares, mentions of possession, mentions of sleep paralysis, cursing, mentions of burn scars.

He never leaves Schlatt's side, at first. 

Nobody comments on that, but on the other hand nobody comments on the evident burn scars in the shape of glyphs that cover the older man's body - and that burnt through his suit, so that they had to make him a new one. 

At least the pity stares stop. 

Schlatt appreciates it. It's a lot to take in, after being mentally asleep for about a month, and the news of what happened- 

He prefers not to think about it if he can. 

There's already an empty feeling in his torax, right under where he thinks his pancreas is supposed to be, he doesn't need a broken heart on top of that - especially since Fundy said that feeling's probably never going away. 

But the thing is, it's hard to make sure Fundy's taking care of himself when he's so insistent on following him around and taking care of  _ him _ . 

While he will probably never admit it out loud, it's endearing. Heartwarming. 

It breaks his heart, knowing that he went through all of that alone.

A part of him wants to suffer, to know what he said, how he mistreated them - why Quackity has left -, in a twisted sort of penance for the things that thing did while in his body. But he really doesn't want to bother Fundy with that, it really is not worth it. 

Especially when the man keeps going above and beyond to make sure he's doing alright: following him around, bringing him food, checking his temperature, ensuring that he's warm, that his scars are healing fine. 

Catching him when he stumbles on nothing and almost faceplants on the ground - whenever his muscles forget he's the one in control again. 

Quieting him down when he wakes up from a nightmare, straining against invisible and intangible constraints. 

Tonight is a bit better.

Schlatt does wake up suddenly, eyes opening as a gasp leaves him, but he's not drenched in sweat, nor panting. There's no itching feeling under his skin. 

There is, however, a slight dip in his matress, from where Fundy is hunched up, sitting on a wooden chair, arms supporting his head over the sheets. 

Schlatt's head hits his pillow in exasperation. This dude's going to be the end of him. 

He really didn't sign up for becoming a … supervisor. He's not going to think about that other word. Nope. Not doing that. 

What he is going to do, instead, is ever so slowly get up, so that he doesn't wake him up, and walk around the bed so that he can crouch behind him. 

Fundy jumps a little in his sleep when he puts one arm under his legs and one behind his back, but he seems to tired to do anything but mumble, and he quiets down quickly with a hushed reassurance. The fool has been overworking himself, again. 

Once, it wouldn't have been that hard to pick the man up and move him to a better location, but Schlatt has been having a bit of a hard time regaining his strength after the whole demon deal, so all he knows he can manage to do is lift Fundy for a moment and then let him down on the bed as gently as he can. 

There's a brief moment where Fundy is actually awake, eyes open as he looks around himself - probably disoriented by the sudden shift from a weird unhealthy yoga position to laying on a soft flat surface - and he manages to grab Schlatt's shirt in the process. 

Then, there is a rather awkward moment where Schlatt is stuck, one arm trapped under Fundy's back and unable to lean back because the man's grip is stronger than expected. 

Fundy, thankfully, blinks tiredly and groans, letting go almost instantly to rub at his eyes. Schlatt can just pretend it never happened. 

"What's going on?" Fundy asks, speech slurred with tiredness and voice thick with sleep, moving to sit up a bit.

"Nu-uh, you little shit. You're not allowed to fuck up your spine and then whine about it. Go back to sleep." Schlatt rebutts as he moves the sheets so that Fundy is covered, then gets back on the bed. 

The younger man lets out a little tired snort, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation - which is funny, because Schlatt is the only one who has a right to be exasperated at the moment. 

"Whatever, dad- I mean. Shit. Fuck. Shut up. I didn't say anything. What?" 

Schlatt lets himself bask in the warmth that fills his chest; he can just think about what he has, what he can do with the people he has on his side and the time he's been given. He can feel himself chuckling and Fundy's head gently hit against the side of his arm in a mock facepalm. 

He moves his arm around, so that he can bring Fundy in a half-hug and rest his hand on top of his head - he's not feeling that sleepy at the moment, despite the general tiredness, so maybe he can just enjoy the moment. Let himself, dare he say it, be a bit vulnerable for some time. 

It's not like anyone can come in, the doors are locked. 

"Whatever you say. I didn't hear a thing, kid." He comments with a smile, gloating at the fact that Fundy instantly groans and wraps an arm around him in order to better hide his face in awkwardness. 

"You are literally the worst." Fundy laments.

But then again, he does fall asleep curled up against him, so maybe he's not all that bad. 


	28. Muffin Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad and Skeppy have such a unique dynamic, I do hope I managed to replicate it ahahah  
> I know everyone who's a fan of them is still waiting for them to do a meetup, so ...  
> Here's hoping?

"Is this on? Are we live?" Skeppy's voice asks as the camera's red light starts to blink. 

A few feet away, Bad chuckles to himself as all he can suddenly see on his screen - him and the couple of people that jumped on stream the second they went live - is Skeppy's confused expression. 

When the younger man turns back to him, it's with an endeared and mockingly angry expression, mouth open with a protest already on his tongue. 

"Yup, we're live!" Bad starts, interrupting him before he can even say anything, and turns to the camera with an awkward stare, eyes straying to the side instantly. 

Back when they'd first come up with the idea for this stream, before he'd caught a plane to  _ finally _ meet his best friend, the idea of it had been fun and quite honestly one of the best ideas they'd ever had. 

It was funny, memeable, and a splendid sequel to Bad's old cooking video. 

But neither had quite taken into consideration the fact that doing a cooking livestream required having cameras on for quite some time. 

Skeppy, while being a bit awkward with nothing to do with his hands, thinks he can handle himself in front of the cameras quite alright. 

Bad, on the other hand, has never really picked up using facecam - the last instance of it that Skeppy does remember is the hair cutting stream, which … isn't exactly a common nor reoccurring thing. 

"Hello everyone! I hope you're all having a wonderful wonderful day! Today, I am here with Skeppy! Say hi, Skeppy." 

The younger man turns to the camera with a bright, sardonic smile, and lets himself fall back into their usual dynamic. 

"Hi, Skeppy!" Immediately, Bad swivels around with the least irritated look face  _ ever _ and gestures wildly at the camera before putting a hand on his face. 

"SKEPPY! Oh my goodness-" the man gripes, using the hand on his face to try and cover his fond smile - it works only slightly. 

If it were anyone else, the fact that he can now see the person he's bothering smile as they protest would break the illusion that he is actually managing in annoying them. But to be honest, he's known Bad for too long, he can tell when he's not really angry even without seeing him smile as he pretends to be angry. 

"Can you at least explain the audience what we're doing as I grab the recipe?" Bad asks, moving out of frame for a moment in order to grab the sheet of paper stuck to the fridge behind the camera. 

"Today, Bad's gonna make me some blueberry cupcakes!" Skeppy instantly declares, leaning back into the kitchen table with a satisfied smirk, simply waiting for Bad's next outburst. 

And in fact, like clockwork-

"Skeppyy! That is not true, you said you'd help me out!" He protests, getting back into frame, now with the recipe he printed down for the occasion. There are very easy and very clear steps written on it, that he read out loud before they started the stream so that Skeppy could have at least a vague idea of what he was in for. 

"Come oon, Bad! You know I can't cook!" He comments, pouting a bit just for show, and - yep, Bad's expression instantly softens. 

"But that's not the point, we're supposed to be making it together …" whoever says they would be able to say no to that, they are liars. 

"I  _ guess _ I can  _ try _ and help!" 

"YAAY!" Bad cheers, clapping his hands together, and before Skeppy can say anything there is a sudden bark from near his feet that makes him jump in surprise. 

"Oh you scare the shit out of me!" Skeppy says in a gasp, one hand over his chest as he looks down at Rat, who is wagging her tail at his feet. 

" _ Language _ , Skeppy! Lucy just wants to say hi!" 

Skeppy snorts out a laugh as he looks down at the little dog, who is now standing on her hinds legs and lightly scratching at his jeans. 

"I think Lucy wants up. Do you want up, little lady?" He asks, already bending down to scoop Lucy up in his arms. She is instantly excited, tail wagging like crazy as she struggles to reach his face - and once she does, it's dog kisses central. 

Skeppy can't help but burst out laughing as Lucy seems to be desperately trying to cover his whole face in kisses. 

"Oh my goodness- Rat! Rat stop, you- oh my goodness, let me help you-" Bad starts, inching closer with his arms outstretched in order to save Skeppy from the onslaught of love, but the younger man just steps away. 

"She's mine now, Bad! See? She loves me so much!" 

While Skeppy is a bit preoccupied with preventing Lucy from vaulting out of his arms in excitement, he does not miss Bad's indignated huff and how he crosses his arms over his chest. 

"Bad-boy-halo. Are you-" 

"No." Bad interrupts, with an edge of finality that flies over Skeppy's head.

"Are you by any chance-"

" _ No _ , Skeppy!" He protests in vain.

" _ Jealous _ ??" Skeppy asks, wagging his eyebrows. Lucy gives a bark that, while destroying his right eardrum, sounds like her agreeing with his statement.

"I am  _ not _ !" 

"You so are! You're  _ jealous _ because Rat keeps giving me lots of kisses!" Skeppy presses and as if Rat could understand him, she gives another small "yip" and resumes her extremely vital task of licking his face. Right in front of him, Bad crosses his arms and gives him a skeptical look.

"I- Rat gives me plenty of kisses!"

There's a split second during which Skeppy thinks of where he can take this bit, and he decides that hey, maybe he can try and be lazy: he sticks out his bottom lip in a pout and squeezes Rat to his chest. 

"Oh, wow! Ok, I see how it is! You can make your own muffins then!" He exclaims, turning his back to him and walking away. 

What the camera can't thankfully see is him realizing after just a second that there is no exit in the direction he's walking to - unless he can suddenly pass through walls - so he reaches the end of the kitchen and just … rests his forehead against the wall.

"What- Skeppy, no! Stop! Come back, come on!" Bad protests,  _ thankfully _ while being enough good of an actor to mask the fact that what he is seeing is simply hilarious. Skeppy's shoulders are shaking with the need to laugh himself to tears, but he holds on. For the bit. 

And then, all his plans come crashing down as Bad's voice takes a more stern tone.

"I- You're either helping or not getting any!" 

A very long moment of silence goes by, and then-

"You know what, what are we even waiting for! Come on, Bad, we have muffins to bake!"


	29. A Normal Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As fantasy MCC approaches, three (four?) new characters join the party!  
> But not the main party, at least not yet ;)
> 
> Thank you again for reading! <3

George takes a deep breath. 

He is in his study: the smell surrounding him is gentle, of old wood and older books, of the flowers he's growing on the windowsill, of the almost empty cup of tea his tutor insisted he drank before practicing - "you can't do magic on an empty stomach, I will not have you pass out like a fresh-faced student with no experience!" 

It is quite easy to fall back into his own mind, he's done it so many times ever since he started training, but it is never quite easy to-

A light thump, the sound of a small metallic bead hitting his window, prompts him to open his eyes. 

George purses his lips in barely concealed irritation and shakes his head. He has to  _ focus _ . This is precisely why he wanted to skip breakfast, so that he could start before  _ they _ arrived to bother him. 

He's been meaning to try out a new theory - a new spell - for a while, and it requires him to be at maximum concentration because time is a fickle bitch that does not like being toyed with. 

So George closes his eyes again and focuses on the pattern of his breathing. He feels for a moment in complete awareness of every inch of his body, and then he opens his eyes. 

In front of him, millions of millions of shimmering particles float, gently, into the air in front of him, as if somebody had decided to hang an infinite amount of pieces of iridescent glass with invisible strings. George could live a thousand years and never get tired of seeing the figments of reality and specks of possibilities that exist in the time dimension. 

Raising his hand to touch one of them feels like moving through thick molasses after a day of exercise - his muscles protest, scream at him, and it is such a strenuous act. 

But he knows to persist - what's coming is going to be even harder - so after what seems like an eternity, but in reality is no time at all, the tips of his fingers brush against the burning cold of a figment of reality. 

A fraction of a second later, George stumbles forward, head ringing as he's thrown out of his own personal pocket in time. In his ears, the sound of another of those damned pebbles against his bloody window. 

George lets out a loud curse and stomps to the window, opening it with a gesture of his hand and then immediately raising his arcane shield as another pebble flies right at him - as it had been aimed at his poor window once more. 

Filled with a righteous fury, George slams his hands on the windowsill - mindful of his poor and completely innocent Forget-Me-Nots - and leans forward to look down at the recently acquired banes of his existence. 

"See, I told you it would work- George! George wanna come train with us?" Calls out the fighter, waving a hand frantically as he elbows his shorter monk friend. 

"No! Leave me alone!" George yells back, and instantly closes the window and goes back to his position in the centre of the room.

He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing, and-

Another pebble. He is going to murder them.

"What do you  _ want _ ?! I told you I'm busy!" 

The fighter spreads his arms open - almost hitting his friend in the face, if said friend hadn't ducked down instantly.

"Oh,  _ come on _ George! It's gonna be fun!" 

"I'm  _ not interested _ ! Now, leave before I start throwing spells your way!" 

The monk scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin up in defiance. 

"As if you could catch me! I bet you can't, and you're scared, and that's why-" a pale green hand is suddenly covering the human's mouth, its owner looking awkwardly up at George with a tentative smile - as if that douche's attempt at riling him up could have worked. 

On a completely unrelated note, George has had enough of that conversation. 

"You bother me again today and you  _ will _ regret it." And with that, he closes the window again. 

Definitely not hearing the monk's confused "does that mean we can come back tomorrow?". He is just going to ignore it. 

The moment he turns back around, he almost has a heart attack.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face, is his mentor. 

"Bloody hell, I didn't hear you arriving." George mumbles, moving to grab him a chair as the older wizard chuckles. 

"I figured, you were having quite a spat." Scott comments, sitting down on the armchair and nodding towards the window, looking more pleased than he should be. 

George gives a scoff, letting himself slump into his chair. 

"They are  _ relentless _ . I don't know what to do anymore." He mopes, but as he should have expected Scott has no pity to share and immediately tackles a new, equally pressing problem. 

"Have you found your teammates for the tournament yet?" He asks, crossing one leg over the other and resting his chin in his hand. About two months ago, George had agreed, after ages of declining invitations and rejecting requests, to take part in the yearly tournament his mentor ideated - agreeing only on the terms that he would be able to choose his own teammates. Which is not that unusual, people can arrive with their friends and form a team. George's main problem? His sadly evident lack of friends - at least, friends that will take part in the tournament. 

"Not yet. They're all so … various. And peculiar. I'm-" He halts, hands clasped together and squeezing one another, as if they were stress relievers. Noticing his discomfort, Scott seems to take immediately a step back from his usual flippant persona as his expression softens and his posture relaxes. 

"You're free to speak your mind." He reminds him gently, so George takes a small breath and looks away, towards the door, ignoring the awkwardness of his admission.

"I'm worried my purely academic training will make me underperform." 

"That is possible. It is also possible that you do well. Has the prospect of failure ever stopped you?" Scott challenges, one eyebrow raising in doubt because this is the thing: Scott chose him as his protégé, he knows what George is capable of. He knows him, how competitive he is, how his pride gets in the way despite how much his self esteem is rather low. But still.

"I never had to fail in front of a crowd."

"I understand. Still, I think it will do you good. You should find people to team with, not many get this opportunity." 

" _ I know _ ! It's just that nobody's stuck out! They all seem like incredibly talented people!" George protests, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping back into the chair - sliding down a little, so that his chin presses up against his chest. So now he looks and feels like a child throwing a tantrum. Splendid. 

"Well. I think there are at lest two you know by name." Scott notes, smiling with a conspiratory look, and George feels incredibly stupid that he let himself be played like this - did Scott manage to bring the discussion back to the two dumbasses that have been bothering him nonstop for the past couple of weeks?! 

Dream and Sapnap- he has no care for them. None at all. 

"Shut up." George replies weakly and Scott simply laughs - ever so rude, laughing at his self inflicted misery - before standing up. He circles the desk between them and puts a hand on his head, messing up his hair with a chuckle. 

"I have to go, I have matters that await me. But it was nice to see you doing well. I'll wait for the names tonight." Scott's sing-song voice calls as he leaves with a smirk, closing the door behind him.

George lets out a long sigh and resigns himself to morning of meditating and practice. 

It was nice to see his mentor again - he's been worried lately, as if on edge. George figures it's the tournament's fault, but one may never be sure. 

A couple of days later, Dream wakes to the feeling of a pillow hitting him square in the face. Followed by a ripping noise. Followed by the feeling of stuffing falling on his face. 

"Oops-" Sapnap says above him: when Dream opens his eyes, he's holding his pillow, now with a tear in it and stuffing slowly falling on the ground. 

" _ SAP! What the fuck did I tell you about the tusks?!"  _

After their morning workout routine - which definitely does not entail Dream chasing Sapnap around their room as the shorter man jumps around on the furniture to escape, and absolutely doesn't end with them rolling on the floor as the half orc holds his teammate in a headlock - they have a quick breakfast and then hurry to the Academy. 

Today's the day: they will be announcing the teams for this year's tournament, and they both can't wait who they will be fighting with. 

The announcement is a strictly participant-only event, and from that point on they will have about a month to train with their new teammates inside the Academy's facilities. 

The Academy is a huge building that looks and feels like those castles they talk about in fairytales: sky high towers of iridescent colours, with strands of various shades of purple and orange connecting invisible points in space - and perhaps time too. There are stairs and bridges connecting different sections, and Dream knows, from stories told by Master Calvin, that it is as tall in the sky as it is deep inside the bowels of the Earth. A magnificent display of arcane power and architectural prowess. As one would expect from the creators of this tournament, but still. 

The crowd that gathers around the entrance is one of the most varied assortment of adventurers Dream has ever seen, and he knows Sapnap is thinking the same thing because the human's head keeps whipping from side to side as he stares at the people walking by. 

Dream shoots, from time to time, a look around. He's not particularly looking for somebody - he is - and he's not going to let the knowledge of who is competing distract him from trying to do his best - debatable. 

But still. 

All the participants are directed toward the entry, where after a quick scan - to avoid strangers from entering - they manage to get inside the main hall. 

Now, Dream and Sapnap have been told, by their respective masters, about the Academy, but nothing can ever quite prepare you for something this grandiose and extravagant as what they are seeing. 

One would expect a centennial arcane academy, built by two archmages and hosting the best of the magical world in terms of teachers, students and knowledge, to be a stuffy, old fashioned institution. 

One would be quickly proven wrong, as just the entrance hall happens to be a stunning portrait of multiple colours, bright and radiant, with moving paintings of famous arcane masters casting spells side by side with rather sweet drawings of past winners of the tournament hugging each other and holding out their prizes. 

When Master Calvin had first suggested he move for a while to the Academy, in order to fully develop his arcane abilities, he had been skeptical: how could he, when Calvin's house had been his home for so long? But now, seeing all this, he thinks that maybe he could come to like this place. 

At the end of the hall, on an apparently clear glass panel, are displayed the names of each team member. 

With all the chatter and cheers and noises of people looking for each other - some are already leaving, having found what and who they were looking for - it's hard to catch the sound of Sapnap's sudden gasp. 

It is less hard to notice him gripping his wrist and vigorously point at the glass as he lets out an excited laugh. 

Dream follows where he's pointing, and-

" _ George  _ is with us?!" He exclaims, mostly out of pure disbelief, eyes wide open as he looks back and forth between his friend and the list of names on the board. 

"We're so going to win this!" Sapnap answers with an elated smile before bursts out laughing, jumping up and wrapping him in a full body hug - Dream catches him, letting out a small "omf" that is mainly due to the unexpectedness of it all. 

"I can't believe it, we got so lucky!" The half-orc comments, his eyes skimming through the names listed on the board - some he recognises, more or less unfortunately, and some he doesn't.

"I know, right?! -" Sapnap comments, leaning back and letting go in order to nod with his head towards the floating glass.

"Now we just have to find out who Eret is, I guess." 


	30. Stuck in a Room Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back on my bs!! Mr Angry Ram President Man is back, now with Guilt (TM)!  
> This is a sort of sequel to the post-possession chapter, now with a lot less darkness and a lot more swears!
> 
> A dear friend of mine asked if Schlatt was ever going to apologise to Quackity and like ,,, how could I not write that?

Schlatt's fist pounds furiously against the stone wall once more, as if the first few times it had been able to change anything - except for making his wrist hurt. 

"Fundy you better let us out  _ right now _ !" He yells to the cold surface, hoping the edge of worry in his voice isn't that clear. Or maybe hoping it is - maybe if Fundy thinks he's not doing that well he'll let them out and then he won't have to deal with this.

"You're not getting out until you talk!" Replies Fundy's muffled voice through the wall and Schlatt can't help but let his head thump on it. 

The sound of somebody heavily sitting down on a couch reaches his ears and Schlatt freezes, remembering he is definitely not alone in the room. 

"I have nothing to say to this asshole." Quackity says as he starts to fix the pillows on the sofa, piling them all on one side. 

"I told you he was possessed!" Fundy yells back, an edge of frustration in his tone that makes Schlatt want to bash his head in - the last thing he needs is that kid trying to fix all the messes he made. 

"That doesn't excuse him being an asshole." 

Schlatt whips around, arms crossed over his chest and chin raised proudly - while inside he screams, this is the worst reaction he could have had - as venom tinges his words. 

"I- I'm not going to fucking- apologize!" He protests, knowing that Fundy is probably pulling at his hair on the other side of the wall. Quackity instead just chuckles, looking neither surprised nor insulted, and he spreads his arms wide as he reclines in his spot - he now owns all of the couch in that meeting room - with a mix of amused sarcasm and exhaustion. 

"Then I guess we might as well get comfortable."

"Fundy." 

Schlatt is sitting on the ground - he refuses to accept that he's not getting out anytime soon, even if he's in one of the most uncomfortable positions ever. No answers come from the outside world. 

"Fundyy …"

He tries again in almost a whine - even though it is definitely not, he would never whine - but the only answer he gets comes from behind him.

"He's gone." After his last quip, Quackity had stopped talking and firmly refused to acknowledge his existence. Which, for all that he is right in doing so, stings. Schlatt, nerves on fire and back hurting, falls face flat in the metaphorical pit he previously dug himself.

"Oh, so now I am-"

Quackity opens one fiery eye, shooting him a look that shuts him up instantly.

"Shut the fuck up before I shoot you again." Schlatt deflates and turns back to the stone wall with a murmured grumble.

"I guess."

"So-" It's been forever since he heard anything but the sound of his own breathing, or the subtle shifting of fabric against fabric as he tries to find a comfortable position to sit in - too stubborn to move from the ground, too stubborn to move anywhere else, too stubborn to back down. 

But he is but a gust of wind crashing against the solid rock that is Quackity, who doesn't even open his eyes. 

"Your apology is not accepted."

Like clockwork, he launches himself back into the ground; one hand trembling by his side as his chin whips up so fast he almost crashes the back of his head against the wall.

"Fuck you, I wasn't going to-" Quackity's lips curl up in a bittersweet, cruel smile.

"Bye." 

"Are you sleeping?" His voice is soft, but it fills the silence of the room like the booming sound of a- of a megaphone. Not that other booming sound. He's not thinking about that. 

The room is cold and Quackity almost sounds exhausted when he answers, one arm over his eyes. 

"Shut up."

Schlatt"s eyes move to the ground. He feels cold, so he brings his legs closer to his chest - standard procedure for when you're lost in a snowstorm, or when you're sinking into your own shit. 

"Sorry." 

"Oh wow, didn't know you had it in you." Quackity comments, sounding genuinely surprised, and it almost breaks him. Almost.

"I- what did I say? When I was possessed." He asks, voice pitching wrong in all the worst moments, but he powers through, because it's worth it. God, how much he misses hanging out with the other man. 

Only silence follows, and with Quackity's arm over his face he doesn't even know if the man heard him. So he tries. It is worth it. 

"Q-"

"I don't hear you shutting up."

And he breaks a little. 

"You tore down the white house."

This time it's Quackity that breaks the silence, but Schlatt almost wishes he didn't. He's tired, cold, hungry, and the only thing that could make it worse is if Quackity took his arm off his face and saw how his face is currently wet - it's not that hard to cry silently if one is prideful enough. 

"Insulted me, belittled me. But I mean, you'd been pushing people away for a long time. Hell, the festival had just happened. But I had been staying by your side because I believe in democracy, first and foremost. And you were just … pissing all over everything I'd worked for. Everything I stood for." 

For better or for worse, there is no mercy for Schlatt. Quackity stretches as he speaks, tone deadly serious as he lays down what happened. And a part of Schlatt always knew that the other man has always been stronger than him, more mature. That's why he's talking calmly, head level despite how evident it is that he was hurt, while he is crying silently, curled up on himself and still unable to allow himself to take the first step. 

"You made me feel like shit, Schlatt. And I trusted you." Quackity sits up, rubs a hand over his face tiredly, and then finally looks at him. Freezes. Blinks. 

Schlatt wishes the earth would instantly swallow him whole. He wants to run, to pretend it is a joke, a prank. He knows he can't. Doesn't want to. 

His hand moves to wipe at his burning face as he flushes in shame, feeling it coil around his stomach.

"I- I'm so sorry. Fuck- I- shit, this is embarrassing-" 

"Jesus Christ, are you actually crying?" Quackity asks, disbelief clear in his voice, and Schlatt can't help but push back, because it is getting quite a bit too much and that is simply all he knows to do. 

"Have been for the past hour, thank you for noticing." He jokes, voice cracking only twice, never once stumbling on a word, never once letting out the sob he's been holding back for forever. 

He can do this. He forcefully grabs his own hands, mentally gripping the reins of his emotions and thoughts and stomps down his pride as he looks up at his former friend. 

"Quackity I am so sorry. I fucked up and I- I just miss you. I don't care about the politics, I- I fucked up. And I don't know how to fix it." 

For a moment, all Quackity does is stare at him, as if he's seeing him for the first time. Then, he shrugs. 

"I don't know either."

"But I- I want to try!"

Quackity smirks, raising an eyebrow as he crosses his arms. 

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Schlatt's shoulders fall, one arm circling around his legs to bring them closer to his body as the other rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck.

"I- come on, you know I'm shit at dealing with emotional stuff!"

Quackity bursts out laughing, gesturing vaguely at him

"I can see that."

"Hey, fuck you!" 

Quackity raises an eyebrow.

"Fuck, shit. Sorry. I'm doing it again."

This time, thankfully, Quackity is smiling as he shakes his head and looks up to the sky. And then, when he looks back at him again, there's a fondly amused look on his face. 

"I  _ guess _ you can join me on the couch."

As Schlatt stands up - body aching and joints popping, making Quackity laugh out loud and call him old - he thinks that, maybe, there is hope for them yet.


	31. Making a Halloween Costume Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it!! I cannot believe the month is already over ahahah When I first started this I had no idea how much I was going to have fun with this. Throughout this month I have gained so much, both in experience and in friends, and I cannot thank each an everyone of you for making this possible!
> 
> Thank you first and foremost to the-only-gamer-gost on Tumblr, who created the prompt list!! They also write so you should 100% check them out!!
> 
> Thank you to all of the lovely people that have been reading this silly stories, to those who have been leaving kudos and to those who have been leaving comments. 
> 
> I hope you've had fun, reading these silly little stories of mine!   
> This is for you, I hope you'll like it! <3

Tommy doesn't particularly mind Halloween.   
It's a cool festivity, and it serves as a break among the school days which is always welcome. The amount of candy and chocolate surrounding the event is also a very good side of it - no matter what his family is planning, he's always sure he will find good things to snack on during the day.   
He doesn't really enjoy the dressing up part of it: too much effort, a bit too much to do and too little rewards for it to be something he actually wants to put effort in. 

This is why, when Wilbur organises a week-long meetup that has Halloween smack dab in the middle of it, he doesn't expect he's going to do much for it.   
Wilbur's planning a big party for all of them, and they'll be probably filming or streaming some things - as for all the rest of the week.   
Phil has insisted on having a pumpkin carving contest, and Fundy has insisted on having lots of candy.   
Tommy is hyped for the party as much as he is hyped for the rest of the week there, but he already knows he's going to show up with no costume and say he's dressed up as his biggest hero, because he is cool like that.   
Then, one afternoon a couple of weeks before he has to take the trip to London, as he's working on a video while on call with Tubbo, the subject of the masked party comes up.   
"I heard that Fundy is working on a pokemon trainer costume, since he bought all those cards. And, oh!, Wilbur is revamping the L'manburg costume, he says he'll do a post-election version of it, all creepy and stuff. What do you think?"  
Tommy blinks at the screen, for a moment not understanding what he means, and then shrugs. A moment later he remembers his camera isn't on.  
"I-uh- I have no idea. I'm not a big fan of costumes."   
There's the sound of Tubbo's cord clashing against them and their mic, and Tommy can just imagine his friend gesticulating wildly in silent protest at his comment.  
"What?! Tommy we have to have matching costumes then!" Tubbo suggest excitedly, prompting Tommy's face to contort on itself in confusion.   
"Wh- but why? What is the jump to there?! Wha- Where did that even come from?" Tommy asks as he takes his hands off the keyboard - he feels like he needs to focus on this discussion.  
"Well, you don't have a costume, and you don't like dressing up for the sake of it. So if you're dressing up to match me, it'll be more fun!" He supposes that what Tubbo is saying makes a bit of sense. Just a tiny bit. And making a costume together does sound cool. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.   
"I doubt that. But alright, I guess. What did you have in mind?" Tommy asks nonchalantly, reclining back in his chair to stretch out his back a bit. He figures his friend has already something planned - as he always does - and a tiny part of him is hyped to see what it's going to be.  
"Uh- nothing. Like, actually literally nothing!"   
As he bursts out laughing, Tommy realizes that he has a long afternoon ahead of him.

About a couple of days later, he's exiting his house by himself, geared with a fully charged phone, some cash and an extra charger. He has a bus trip ahead of him, and Tubbo jamming to some random song in his earplugs.   
"Are you there yet?" Tubbo asks, as if they're the one stuck on an uncomfortable seat waiting for his stop, and Tommy glances around himself before he awkwardly answers:  
"Nope, still got a couple stops to go."  
"I am so hyped, Tommy, I am so _hyped_. The costumes are gonna be so great." Tommy chuckles to himself, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he glances at the buildings ouside the window.   
"That is, if I actually manage to find what I need."   
When the two of them had finally decided what to wear at Wil's party, it had become evident that neither owned what they were going to need for the costume. Therefore, the earlier afternoon Tubbo had gone out to gather all the main necessities for his part - plus some extras they could share.   
And now, at least in theory, he was going to guide Tommy through finding what he needed, as he'd admitted needing help to do so.   
Now, all he hopes is that the clerk will let him film himself as he walks around the thrift shop - and later the costume shop -, so that Tubbo can pick out what he should buy.   
He wasn't kidding when he said he has no idea how these things work. 

Tommy doesn't particularly mind makeup.   
He really doesn't like it on his face, thought, even if Tubbo insists that what he's putting on his face is not makeup.   
Cosmetic fake blood is still makeup, for all that Tubbo tries to argue.   
"It's got the world cosmetic in it, tho, doesn't it?" He tries, despite knowing he shouldn't.   
Tubbo bristles, hand hovering near his face as they're in the process of holding up a scrunched up piece of paper with blood smeared on it, and they glares furiously at him.  
"Alright, yes, yes, shutting up and staying still." Tubbo smiles for just a split second, then goes back to staring intently at his face as he dabs the blood smears on him.   
Tommy is still glad that he'd found a cheap suit in the thrift shop, otherwise he would have felt extremely sad at staining that too just a moment before.   
Back when they'd decided what to dress up as, Tommy had initially refused to wear anything on his face: he feels like it would have gotten all sticky and gross on his face, and the blood right now gives him the impression it's still going to happen despite his best hopes.   
But Tubbo's idea is honestly so cool, he figures he can agree to some. Just a tiny bit.   
Tubbo is by far the one who got the most of it anyway - Tommy studied him and tried to help out as they traced lines on their face and then shaded them carefully, creating a cracked porcelain effect on a base of full faced white that has got to feel so gross.   
It is also quite impressive how he got his black suit to look disheveled and slightly torn up while not damaging it too much.   
Seemingly satisfied with his job, Tubbo leans back to check everything one more time before nodding firmly.   
"All done! You're sure you still don't want a bit of red? Like, as if you were wearing a mask, but it's your skin?" Tubbo asks, already reaching for the same colour palette he used for his own face about half an hour ago.   
Tommy's whole body sags as he pouts in what he hopes is a convincing sad expression.   
"But it'll feel so _gross_ and it will bother me! Doesn't it itch?" Tommy whines and Tubbo huffs out, both amused and exasperated.  
"It really does not! And it's not all your face! Most importantly you will look like a badass!"  
Tommy gives another wordless whine, then an exasperated drawn out sigh. 

About ten minutes later, Tubbo declares their preparations finally over with a clap of their hands. And since both of them are extremely well prepared for all of this, they're only five minutes late.   
As they leave their room in a hurry, Tommy shoots one last glance at the mirror.   
Tubbo, a falling angel: dark torn up suit, a broken wing, porcelain cracks on his face and a darkened halo; and Tommy, a demon with a nice side: pure white suit and a pastel coloured tie, with golden devil horns and blood smeared on one side of his mouth and the top of his otherwise pristine suit. The slightly darker shade of red around his eyes does make him look badass.   
They're going to get some rocking pictured that night. 


End file.
